/ 




Class _Lx 
Book 
Copyright N° 

COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT; 



WAYSIDE GARNITURE 



BY 



THOMAS HOBBS STACY 

Author of "Conditions of Spiritual Life," "In the Path of Light 

Around the World," "Life of Otis Robinson Bacheler, 

M.D., D.D., Missionary to India," etc., etc. 




BOSTON 
SHERMAN, FRENCH & COMPANY 



1912 






V 



^ 



Copyright, 1912 
Sherman, French &> Company 



i 

gd.A3l61K 



To the woods and brooks that call me when the 

spring comes ; 
To the hills and meadows once my world, the 

whole ; 
To the mystery of sky that moves above me; 
To the sea whose swing and music thrill my 

soul. 
To the life which bade me live and grow for- 
ever ; 
To the hand stretched out to clasp and stay 

my own; 
To my faithful friends who ever love and bless 

me, 
Though my faults so many are and plainly 

shown. 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

PROLOGUE 1 

MEMORIES OF THE MILL 6 

SHINING STARS » • 10 

BE A MAN 12 

HOW YOU DO IT 14 

COME OUT TO KAMEIDO 16 

NIKKO 18 

GRANDMOTHER'S GARDEN 20 

THE DEAD THRUSH 24 

ONLY A SPRAY OF JUNIPER 25 

SONG OF THE VIREO 27 

SONG OF THE HERMIT THRUSH ... 29 

NATURE'S PORTRAIT 31 

TWILIGHT OF THE YEAR 33 

WHITE LIES THE SNOW 35 

FLIGHT OF SEA-FOWL 37 

DRIFTWOOD 40 

PEAK'S ISLAND 42 

WHEN COAL IS HIGH 49 

ROBIN RED 51 

LOVE LURE 

LOVE AND DUTY 55 

LOVE AND PLENTY 55 

LOVE AND NEED 56 

LOVE AND TEMPTATION 56 

LOVE AND REASON 57 

LOVE AND ABSENCE 67 



PAGE 

MADRIGAL 58 

THY SMILE 60 

EGYPTA 61 

WHAT ANSWER 63 

SWEET PEAS 64 

CITADEL MOSQUE 67 

MISGUIDED ASPIRATION 76 

SLEEP, LITTLE BABY 77 

KATALEEN 81 

PORTLAND HARBOR LIGHTS 112 

CONSECRATION 117 

DEDICATION OF A CHURCH BELL ... 119 
COME NEAR, O LORD, AND TAKE MY 

HAND 120 

I BRING MY HEART 121 

SAVIOUR, DEAR SAVIOUR 123 

HARKEN, LORD 125 

MY HELP 126 

ALL IN ALL 127 

IN DAYS LIKE THESE 128 

COLUMBIA'S NEW ERA 130 

LAUNCHING OF U. S. S. KENTUCKY . . 133 

WAR 135 

PASTIME 143 

GABRIEL 147 

TWILIGHT 154 

A NIGHT WATCH 157 

WELLS 160 

TO A CHURCH TOWER 162 

THE DYING YEAR 164 



VAGt 

LONGINGS 166 

A SHADOW 170 

LIFE'S SONG 174 

END OF THE COLLEGE COURSE .... 178 

THE SMALL IS GREAT 181 

LESSONS FROM THE SEA 185 

THE FIRST SNOW STORM 189 

INVOCATION TO SPRING 195 

WHITE MOUNTAINS 199 

LAKE AUBURN 200 

STONE FACE OF THE ANDROSCOGGIN . 201 

THE RIVER ROAD AT TWILIGHT ... 202 

AGAMENTICUS 203 

THE CRICKET 207 



PROLOGUE 

I've watched the wayside garniture as I 

Have come this dusty road, the summer long. 

E'en when the hiding snow-crusts chilled the 

air 
Brown Alders hung their tasseled festoons to 
The humid breeze, which swung and swayed 

above 
The babbling brook. The Willow Catkins 

showed 
Their silver backs, and Elm and Maple arched 
The way with myriad bloom. 

Arbutus washed 
Its waxen leaves, spread wide its petals pink, 
And lent the air a fragrance, none more sweet. 
Then came the Trillium, Hepatica, 
Anemone, and Fern-fronds, pushing up 
Through last year's stubble brown, and sticks 

the drift 
Of many storms, beneath the Shad-bush white. 
Wild Columbine hung here and there its bells — 
Which swung as free as those pagoda bells 
'Neath Burma's open sky, — to tell the elves 
Which had not wakened yet, that spring, with 

pale 

[1] 



Bluets and velvet violets, had come. 
Then there were Buttercups of nitid gold, 
And drifts of Daisies like the drifts of snow, 
In smell of clustered crimson Strawberries. 
All succulent and trembling with the hum 
Of busy bees, the Clover, red and white, 
Tossed to and fro amid the tangled grass, 
And then in wealth of bloom came Meadow 

Sweet 
With Hardhack, thick o'er hump and cradle 

spread, 
Stiff standing like a marshaled army, spear 
In hand : all tipped with floral flesh and blood ; 
And this with Brakes, Sweet Fern was mixed 

among. 
No scant of Yarrow all the summer through ; 
While August's lap with Everlastings filled: 
Until the Gentian starred it all with blue ; 
And Clematis which climbs the alder hedge 
To silken plumelets turned, in swinging winds ; 
And satin pods from Milk-weed blossoms grew. 

Ah! who can sing September's garnish rare? 
When Golden-rod and Golden-rod bends o'er 
The well worn ruts, and nods and sways, as 

though 
To say the richest garlands waited long 
To come among the last, and we have come 
An oriental shoder's golden gift, 
With much of silver in the yellow mix. 
[2] 



And yet the honors must divided be, 
Twixt this, and sapphire blue, and amethyst; 
For Asters wild droop heavy on their stems 
In great profusion spread, droop even to 
The dusty road, and make it beautiful: 
As if the sky had sent some patches down 
For men to use in mending up their ways. 
— So rare these Asters are, 'twere better far 
To have a way that needed mending much, 
Than not to have them beam their eyes at us. — 

October air is raw and chilly, quite : 
But yet the road is not bereft of all 
Its brightness. Russet, red, and golden- 
brown 
Is all the foliage, with here and there 
Some olive-green among the falling leaves : 
For fast they fall, and rustle 'neath our feet ; 
Until November's leaden sky, — oft winged 
By wailing geese, — looks down on branches 

bare. 
And too, when all the leaves are dry and dead, 
The scarlet Alder-berries burn, as though 
The bush were lit with fire ; and with them 

flares 
The Sumach's crimson torch, to offer still 
Some beauty to the half forsaken road, 
And bid defiance to the morrow's snow. 



[3] 



So all along the beaten way of life 

I've found some garniture to brighten it; 

Else oft, 'twould have been bare, and lonely 

too. 
But this sweet garniture, — sometimes so fresh, 
As though the earth had proffered from her 

heart 
Her choicest gifts, amid the dews of heaven, 
To make a brighter day for those who passed; 
Sometimes low bent beneath the falling rain, 
Or clouds of dust, — for all must share the lot 
Of those to whom they dare to give them- 
selves : — 
But this sweet garniture made fair the road, 
And blessed the life of him who came that way. 

As I have passed, I've gathered here and there 
Some sprays for memory's sake ; sprays full of 

dew 
And sun, sprays bent 'neath dust or falling 

rain; 
But I have bound them into one bouquet, 
Just as I gathered them. So take them all. 
Some breathe of early spring, impetuous ; 
And some of summer's heated crucible, 
While some take color from the autumn frost, 
That falling left a mark. But take them all; 



[4] 



They'll speak to you of days when clouds hung 

low, 
And rain mixed with the tears upon my face ; 
They'll show you much that came to help me 

on, 
Perhaps they'll help you too, as on you go. 



[5] 



MEMORIES OF THE MILL 

I hear the waters falling o'er the dam beside 
the mill, 

As in the chamber of the miller's house, 'twas 
dark and still ; 

And I, a lad, was drifting to the vales of dream- 
land deep, 

The falling water's calling, ever calling me to 
sleep. 

I see the pond behind the mill, where tempting 

fishes swim: 
And bending hemlocks bathe their tips across 

the water's brim ; 
The glancing birds that sing, and answer to 

each other's calls : 
The summer lilies blooming, and the autumn 

cardinals. 



[S] 



I see the miller standing in the doorway of the 

mill: 
His smiling, pollen dusted face, speaks welcome 

and good will ; 
While up the granite stairway, and beyond the 

balcony, 
The good wife pauses, mid her work, a hostess 

kind to be. 

The miller takes no toll from me, but adds 

unto my grist, 
Then feels the meal, — that it is fine — and gives 

his gauge a twist ; 
And turns to ask me of myself, and of my 

family : 
For he the royal father is, of all that progeny. 

Abstemious in habits, he — unmarred by ty- 
rant drink — 

When questions of importance came, knew well 
the ways to think : 

He had convictions strong, by fear or favor 
undeterred : 

And when he spoke, 'twas understood the miller 
kept his word. 



[?] 



His God he loved devotedly, his fellow men also : 

His means, himself, he gave, religious profits 
to bestow; 

And to God's house he always brought de- 
votion deep and true, 

A pillar in the parish church, as all his neigh- 
bors knew. 

I loved the miller well, and more, I loved his 

daughters too; 
So very near and dear to me were all, all that 

I knew ; 
For two had died before I could remember 

them, and he 
From whom I took my name, to hold him in 

fond memory. 

I loved his daughters all, but one, ah ! one more 
than the rest; 

The things which made us one I can't explain, — 
'tis God knows best; 

Her place within my heart, I could not give an- 
other here, 

I think you will not blame me, for she was my 
mother dear. 



[8] 



You know a mother's love, and none is like it 

anywhere ! 
Care filled and burdened though she be, it 

reaches for your care ; 
It counsels with unselfishness, God speeds you 

on your way, 
And when you're gone does not forget with 

mighty faith to pray. 

The miller, and the gristmill, and the miller's 

daughters all, 
Have passed beyond my vision, and the sound 

of human call: 
But when my childhood days come back — an 

ever glad refrain, — 
I turn to them in memory, and then sometimes, 

again 

I hear the waters fall, like wind-swept rain, 

beside the mill, 
As in the chamber of the miller's house, 'twas 

dark and still; 
And I, a lad, was drifting to the vales of 

dream-land deep, 
The falling waters calling, ever calling me to 

sleep. 



[9] 



SHINING STARS 

We shine to light the palace of the King; 

About His throne we stand both night and 
day: 
And when His messengers go out and come, 

However, far their flight, we point the way. 

About His banquet-board we glow in fires : 
We show the harpers where to strike the 
strings, 

The trumpeters their scores, the chorus when 
The sweetest singer lifts the voice and sings. 

So far away, you know but few of us: 
So far apart, each, others cannot see ; 

But with the great Director's lifted hand, 
Through endless realms, we move in har- 
mony. 

When speaks the Ruler of the universe, 
Vast solitudes awake to bide His word ; 

We bate our flight to make a longer day, 
And fight for them whose glory is the Lord. 

[10] 



The morning and the evening stars unite 
In notes of joy, when over sands untrod 

Before, the feet of men find Bethlehem ; 

And bring their gifts to Him who leads to 
God. 

No earthly potentate this palace owns ; 

The King of kings immensity enshrines ; 
He lives throughout the whole, and but re- 
flects 
Him in the brightest star that sings, and 
shines. 



[11] 



BE A MAN 

What shall I be? 
A lawyer, doctor, minister? 
A teacher wise? Of industry 
A knight? A holder of the land? 
Or shall I dare to sail the sea? 

What shall I be? 

Oh, be a man ! 
A man is more than title grand; 
A man is more than president 
Or king; for office held unmanned 
Brings only shame and discontent. 

Oh, be a man ! 

The world needs men; 
Men that cannot be bought or sold ; 
And men who honor God and self 
Too much to wrong their fellow-men, 
Or give their soul for sordid pelf; 

The world needs men. 



[1«] 



Then be a man ! 
You can be that, though not a prince 
Or admiral. 'Twill satisfy 
You in the end. Though fame dwells far 
Away, life's real success lives nigh: 

Then be a man ! 



[13] 



HOW YOU DO IT 

How you do it is more than the doing : 
For how you have done it is you ; 

And the stumbling, disfigured is welcome, 
So long as the purpose rings true. 

Better left it undone were it done wrong, 
With grudging and slavish disdain ; 

Such a spirit but mars the first doing, 
And spoils it for doing again. 

Try to do it with love, or just leave it, 

For someone will lovingly do; 
And that someone will get the rich blessing, 

That once was intended for you. 

i 
Oh, take care, nation strong, in your grasping 

For wider and wider domain, 
Lest the whole world, onlooking, berate you, 

And turning, shall strike you again. 

Oh, take care, suffragette, in your doing, 
While seeking the vote rightly yours ; 

If you storm, overbear in your getting, 
What will you at Primary doors? 

[14] 



Oh, my brother pressed low with your labor, 
Whatever the point of your view, 

As you seek to throw off harsh oppression, 
Take care, oh, take care how you do. 

There is more in the way that you do it, 
Than whether you do it at all: 

For the way will be great and far-reaching, 
Though deeds may be feeble and small. 



[15] 



COME OUT TO KAMEIDO M 

Kameido is one of the attractive sections of Tokyo, 
Japan. It has its temple, its pond and horseshoe- 
shaped bridge, its white marble cow and the tortoise 
well, Kameido, which gives the place its name. It is 
especially noted for its camellias and wistarias, the 
latter often hanging in racemes three or four feet long; 
and its five hundred old plum trees, gnarled and mossy, 
and most beautiful when in bloom. 

Come out to Kameido, when the Plum trees 

are a-blow; 
The gnarled and mossy, half a thousand Plum 

trees, row on row; 
The bees a-hum, the floral glory spreading arm 

and arch, 
You'll find in Kameido, at the blooming time in 

March. 

Come out to Kameido. 

Come out to Kameido, when Camellia blooms 

are fair: 
In waxy green, the red and pink, the spotless 

white so rare. 
If 'mid the source of deep intoxication you 

would be, 
Camellia heath and holt of Kameido come and 

see — 

Come out to Kameido. 
[16] 



Come out to Kameido, it will pay you well I 

ween, 
When vari-hued Wistarias festoon themselves 

in sheen ; 
When pendulous Wistarias in zephyrs swing and 

sway, 
From Kameido's bowers, in the fragrant month 

of May. 

Come out to Kameido. 



[H] 



NIKKO 

Nikko? Nikko? 
Daiyagawa plunging through it, 
Fed with fury, filled with gladness ; 
Lacquered bridges, whence you view it, 
Arched above its swirling madness. 

Lift your eyes to Chiuzenji, 
Blue and placid, in the shadow 
Of the lofty Nantai-zan. See 
Nantai-zan o'er wood and meadow ; 

That is Nikko. 

Nikko? Nikko? 

All about your Chapels, Temples, 
Rich in lacquer, gold and bronzes, 
Carved in traceries and dimples, 
Bird and beast and dragon sconces. 

Torii and Shrines of Shoguns, 
Shrines exquisite, sweet paths ending: 
Seried ranks of Lantern platoons, 
All beneath a blue sky bending ; 
That is Nikko. 



[18] 



Nikko? Nikko? 
Cryptomerias so stately, 
Rising straight and high above us, 
Thick in groves, and files sedately 
Whispering o'er sighing lovers. 

Skirting paths of friends and strangers, 
'Mong the hedges, hedges crossing, 
There are banks of Hydrangeas, 
Plume on plume in glory tossing ; 

That is Nikko. 

Nikko? Nikko? 

Priests, and gods, and sandal incense ! 
But Azaleas, glade flooding! 
Here, Azaleas and miles hence, 
Blossoms opened wide and budding; 

Half a hundred feet above you, 
White Azaleas, cloud-pillows, 
Red Azaleas that love you, 
Rolling on in swelling billows ; 
That is Nikko. 



[19] 



GRANDMOTHER'S GARDEN 

(Dedicated to Old Home Week.) 

Beyond an apple orchard and beside a mossy 

wall, 
There was a little Garden, full of flowers great 

and small, 
Some forty years ago or more. And all the 

summer long 
The flowers bloomed, and birds came there to 

sing their sweetest song. 

In size a haystack, and as round, a bunch of 

lilac spread ; 
In spring a-plume with purple bloom, and 

pungent breath it shed. 
Again I see the south wind toss and wave each 

heavy crest; 
Again the country schoolhouse is with lilac 

blossoms dressed. 

White "daffies" there were, centers yellow red- 
edged set in green, — 

O bring some "daffies" to me now, if any you 
have seen, — 

[20] 



How sweet they were ! the "daffies" there be- 
side the old stone wall 

Were fit to grace the richest place, of any cas- 
tle hall. 

When roses bloomed, the roses there were white 

as drifted snoAv. 
And blood-red peonies were round and large 

as they could grow. 
And sweetleaf, sweet, but limp the moment it 

was plucked away, 
Sweet-clover, too — a sickish sweet — with 

sprays for some bouquet. 

Some clumps of tansy, green and scratchy, 

rows of sage with these ; 
The one for striped cheese and colic, one for 

colds and cheese, 
Asparagus for toast, and some with berries red, 

to plume 
The back-room clock, and there to help dispel 

the winter's gloom. 

For measles and for babies, little flames of 

saffron grew ; 
They smelled like babies more than measles, 

that was welcome, too. 
And lovage, fob ! what that was for I do not 

know; but there 
It stood, and grew, and did its share to scent 

the orchard air. 

[81] 



On lances long, gay hollyhocks hugged closely 
as you please, 

And opened wide their silken bells to pollen- 
sacking bees. 

Thick hedged with ragged-robin, full of smell 
and morning dew, 

Some yellow sunflowers turned their heads to 
keep the sun in view. 

Blue larkspur — O ! so blue 'twould never let 
you pass — 

Was mixed with yellow marigolds, and tufts 
of striped-grass. 

While vari-colored poppies laughed and nodded 
all the day, 

To see the stiff sweet-williams flirt with hare- 
bells down the way. 

I can't forget the bergamot or lavender so 

sweet ; 
And lady's slipper, all too small for any lady's 

feet ; 
So delicate in yellow tints, as on the spike it 

grew, 
Capricious in its beauty too, as any lady knew. 



[22] 



Some forty years ago or more — I oft see what 

I sing, 
Especially the lilacs and the "daffies" in the 

spring, — 
This is the garden that I loved, with flowers 

great and small, 
Beyond an apple orchard and beside a mossy 

wall. 

But long ago, the grass did grow and fill the 

garden spot, 
And those who go that way don't know it was 

a garden lot ; 
For she who made and cared for it, and loved 

it all, the best, 
Has clasped her hands and closed her eyes, 

and gone away to rest. 

How changed the spot once home to her ! 

The house no longer stands ; 
But hers is home more beautiful, a house not 

made with hands, 
And trees of life are growing there, and flowers 

great and small, 
In sun and shade will never fade, within the 

city wall. 



[20] 



THE DEAD THRUSH 

Within my hands I held a wounded Thrush 
Until its panting ceased, 
Fell low its trembling wing; 
And then at set of sun I buried it 
Beneath the silent trees, 
Where it was wont to sing. 

Who cares to know where lies the buried 

Thrush? 
Who miss its song divine, 
When dies the summer day? 
Rewards? And are there none for such as 

sing 
To lift a human life, 
And speed it on its way? 



[2*1 



ONLY A SPRAY OF JUNIPER 

'Tis but a spray of juniper 

With needles sharp of opal-green: 

With berries too, of opal-blue 

And sapphire, hidden deep between. 

It crept among the rocks and weeds, 
Upon a barren wind-swept hill ; 
And though I plucked it long ago, 
It tells me of its home scenes still. 

It tells me of a summer day 
Along the wave-washed shores of "York" ; 
Of "Bald Head Cliff," the "Nubble Light," 
"Boon Island," and a long, long walk. 

It whispers of a crimson sky 
Beyond a grassy tree-hedged lea, 
Of ever passing white-winged sail, 
Upon a purple, cloud-pressed sea. 

It brings the presence back again 
Of winds refreshing from the sea: 
Of nature's lavish restfulness, 
And one who shared it all with me. 
[25] 



little spray of juniper, 

So far and long away from home ; 
You bless me still with blessings past, 
As in fond memory they come. 

1 clasp you fondly to my heart, 

And love you, when the snows drift past ; 
And long to find that blissful land 
Where summer joys will ever last. 

Sometime the night will wear away, 
The morn will break with light of gold ; 
Sometime the summer day will come, 
Which feels no more the winter's cold. 

Not only for the memories 
Of happy days which now are gone, 
I thank you for the hope you bring, 
Of brighter days which are to come. 



[*6] 



SONG OF THE VIREO 

High up in a hickory over the way, 

A ruby-eyed vireo stays ; 

He searches for food with a song all the day, 

And these are the words that he says : 
"Sweetest — dearie — listen to me — hear, 
Hear what I sing to thee over our nest ; 
Sweetest — dearie — listen to me — hear, 
See how I bring to thee all that is best." 

While sun-blistered silence hangs over the hills, 
'Mid heat of the clear summer noon, 
Stirred only by stabs of the locust's harsh 

thrills, 
My vireo fits to his tune 

"Sweetest — dearie — listen to me — hear, 
Hear what I sing to thee over our nest; 
Sweetest — dearie— listen to me — hear, 
See how I bring to thee all that is best." 
Somewhere is the nest which a vireo weaves, 
A home without sorrow and tears, 
With tiny white eggs which a mate rarely 
leaves, 

[27] 



But patiently broods as she hears : 

"Sweetest — dearie — listen to me — hear, 
Hear what I sing to thee over our nest; 
Sweetest — dearie — listen to me — hear. 
See how I bring to thee all that is best." 

True love makes the home as the vireos know, 

For work and for waiting gives grace ; 

So one warms the nest where the little ones 

grow, 
The other works, singing apace: 

"Sweetest — dearie — listen to me — hear, 
Hear what I sing to thee over our nest ; 
Sweetest — dearie — listen to me — hear, 
See how I bring to thee all that is best." 




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Ppf 



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[*»] 



SONG OF THE HERMIT THRUSH 

Home-haste impels my feet, 'mong rolling 

pastures green, 
Through which a winding brooklet purls yon 

copse to meet: 
Where wide apart, tree-sentinels sky-crimson 

take, 
And with a song ethereal, bright Hesper greet. 

I, soul thrilled wait, and still my eager hasting 

steps, 
In glad surprise, my breath impetuous, I hush; 
To miss one strain, one note, were unrequited 

loss : 
It is the love lure of the heavenly Hermit 

Thrush. 

O placid ecstasy of sweetest rose-steeped 
dreams ! 

limpid fragments, culled from some immor- 

tal strain ! 

1 linger when the slowly dying day is dead, 
Once more the song serene to hear, and yet 

again. 

[29] 



dying day bathed deep in twilight's ruddy 

glow! 
'Twere well for thee and me to live, and live so 

long, 
If dying, we might pass into the summer night 
Fear-free, accompanied by so divine a song. 



[30] 



NATURE'S PORTRAIT 

Are you an artist? Paint for me I pray 
A likeness then. A portrait it must be 
Of nature. Let me tell you what I want. 
Far off against an August-lighted sky 
Some blue and purple mountains fast asleep ; 
A glint of sea, with sail and dipping oars, 
And in a forest dense, with trailing vines, 
'Mid bloom and grass abending, 'neath the 

shade 
And dropping sun, a matron sitting low; 
Her face in smiles unmixed with burden's wear, 
And motherly. Above her ample lap 
Her arms outstretched ; and she is saying, 

"Come." 
One sandaled foot protruding, and a breast — 
Blue veined with rose papilla, — full: of life's 
Elixir full. For nature never lacks, 
Or grudgingly bestows. She ne'er complains, 
Or mocks at you because you come to her 
With aching head, and weary limbs, and heart 
So heavy with the bitterness of life. 

[31] 



As any mother would she spreads her lap : 
And while she moves her fingers o'er your 

face, — 
With care to press your eyelids down, — she 

breathes 
A breath of spruce and fir, with brier-rose 
Distilled, and marjoram, and salty sea; 
Sweet pot-pourri of shore, and wood, and vale. 
Meanwhile she hums the softest, sweetest 

song: — 
A harmony of lapping waves upon 
The shore, the cry of winds among the hills, 
A runic melody of running brooks, 
And drowsy mellow psalm of soughing pines. — 
Now paint her thus, and me, paint me there 

too, 
A tired hungry urchin at her feet, 
So eager for her fingers' press, her breath 
Of balms, the humming of her dreamy song. 
This is your order, when the work is done 
Bring it to me, and you shall have your pay 
In love, for love is better far than gold; 
At least they say it is for poet's work : 
I think it may be so for artist's too. 



[32] 



TWILIGHT OF THE YEAR 

The winds come out of the leaden sea, 
And cry to the mists — "make room for me, 
Make room, make room, make room." 
The stars look down with a silver light, 
The mists sweep by on the wings of flight, 
And say to the sea "good night, good night 
The year's twilight has come." 

A cry comes out of the frozen north, 
"Beware for the winter king comes forth, 
Across these fields to roam." 
The sumac red lights its torch anew, 
While gentians fold up their lids of blue ; 
Bright golden-rod fades, and asters too, 
The year's twilight has come. 

The mountains, high in the dreamy sky, 
With mantle of brown and blue, draw nigh, 
Uncapped by cloud-wrought foam. 
The yellow fields are besprent with frost ; 
The moor beyond in a mist is lost : 
Crisp leaves by the autumn winds are tossed, 
The year's twilight has come. 
[ 33 ] 



The birds whir by, with a songless cry, 

As though they would say, "The snows are 

nigh 
We seek a southern home." 
How still the rill where the alders grow ! 
How swift the nights, and the morn how slow ! 
The path of the fire-lit sun how low ! 
The year's twilight has come. 

Turn back thy feet, from the many ways 

Ye found in the long midsummer days, 

Oh, absent ones come home. 

We'll bring the fruit of the sun-blessed earth : 

The wood we'll pile on the glowing hearth: 

Our lamps we will light for friends and mirth : 

The year's twilight has come. 



[34] 



WHITE LIES THE SNOW 

White lies the snow on roof and tree this 

morn; 
Lies white across the moor, and o'er the hill : 
Across the trackless road, somewhere between 
The hedges grown of nature's wanton will. 
And white and still is all mine eyes have seen: 
So still ! as though earth's smitten life were 

gone. 

A cry of plaint, and clanging petulance, 
Compelled me forth to hail a random flock 
Of wailing geese, toward the sea adrift, 
On yesterday. Before the coming shock 
Of storm, they shelter sought on pinions swift, 
As flies a squad from vanquished regiments. 

The storm wheeled madly through the sky last 

night: 
My window-pane it smote, and shook my door; 
I heard the forest moan with tossing arms, 
The swift wind's cry, the wild sea's hollow roar. 
(The angry storm's the only only storm that 

hurts 
You know; It finds in ruin its delight.) 
[35] 



Upon the frozen shore, unceasingly 

The frenzied sea rolls in with hissing breath; 

And opening its greedy arms, flings far 

The plunder of the night, in wreck and death ; 

And sends, across the hill and forest bar, 

Its challenge, fierce and grim, increasingly. 

The earth seems pathless as the sea, whose 
ships, 

Ice-clad, were driven through the stormy 
night ; 

Or as the sky, through which at nesting time 

The birds from south-lands, take their home- 
ward flight ; 

And yet, they find their way. From clime to 
clime 

They hear the kindly call of unseen lips. 

Thou gracious Lord wilt find the way to me, 
O'er trackless waste, or through the storm- 
swept air ; 
Thou needest none to tell Thee when to come, 
Thy lone and smitten ones to find, or where. 
Of all who fail to mark my snow-bound home, 
Not Thou. And I shall find my way to Thee. 



[36] 



FLIGHT OF SEA-FOWL 

A sky of gray and crimson, 

A flood of afterglow; 

While shadows deep, 

In silence creep 

Through wood and fields below. 

A silver river, winding 

To silver lakes, beyond: 

As distant sky, 

And forest nigh, 

Lie in the silver bond. 

A wedge of sea-fowl flying, 

A wild and clanging cry; 

In lifted eyes 

A quick surprise, 

And from the heart a sigh. 

But now the twilight hides them; 
Their call comes faint and far; 
And lest they stray, 
Or lose their way, 
Is lit the evening star. 
[37] 



A thought of summer sunshine, 
O'er mountain vale and shore; 
Of drifting 1 clouds, 
And tawny shrouds 
Of rushes, on the moor. 

A breath of brier-roses, 

A scent of soughing pine : 

Sylvan abodes 

By dusty roads, 

Which lured your feet, and mine. 

A memory of faces, 

Some sad, some light and free; 

Of path-marked shores, 

Of dipping oars, 

And ships that went to sea. 

The faces fled with summer: 

Winds swept the mountain side ; 

And all is still, 

By shore and hill, 

Save the complaining tide. 

Good-by, ye flying sea-fowl, 

God guides you with His hands ; 

The last of all, 

To hear the call 

From distant, sunny lands. 

[38] 



And when I hear Him calling, 
Beyond the sea to come; 
Across the bar, 
Shine thou bright star, 
That's lit to guide one home. 



[39] 



DRIFTWOOD 

Tossed on the waves when the tide was high ; 

Strewn on the shore as the winds swept by ; 

Under a fair or an angry sky, 

Driftwood, left by the sea, 

the driftwood! the lost good! 

Sacred "I should!" Fruitless "I could!" 

Driftwood, left by the sea. 

Splinters of masts for the lifted sail : 
Fragments of deck and protecting rail ; 
Rudder and binnacle, strong as mail, 
Driftwood, left by the sea. 

Who knows the path which the tempest 

crossed? 
Who marked the spot where the way was lost? 
Who saw the ship that was wrecked and tossed, 
Driftwood, left by the sea? 

Vainly ye look through the twilight gray, 
Mother and child, o'er the open bay ; 
Scattered and gone is his ship to-day, 
Driftwood, left by the sea. 
[40] 



Laughter and song from the sea-washed sands ; 
Lasses and lads, with their hearty hands, 
Feeding a fire with the shore-strewn brands, 
Driftwood, left by the sea. 

Never they see, as they laugh and shout, 
Homes on the hill with their lights gone out; 
Never the ships that are tossed about, 
Driftwood, left by the sea. 

Out on the margin of time's great deep, 
Borne by the will of the currents' sweep, 
Wrecks of humanity careless sleep, 
Driftwood, left by the sea. 

There is a place where the way divides : 

Here, there are safe though vigorous tides ; 

There, on the shore, when the flood subsides, 

Driftwood, left by the sea. 

the driftwood! O the lost good! 

Sacred "I should!" Fruitless "I could!" 

Driftwood, left by the sea. 



[41] 



PEAK'S ISLAND 

Among the 365 islands of Casco Bay is Peak's 
Island, probably the most popular of all of them. At 
one end are large hotels and places of amusement. At 
the opposite end are a few quiet hotels with plenty 
of opportunity for rest. Although hundreds of thou- 
sands of people visit the place every summer, its 720 
acres, with shore, rocks, woods and meadows, afford 
plenty of room for all. 

Away from books and busy streets, 
The calls and cries of men, 
Oh, ever restless, boundless sea, 
I come to thee again. 

Again I hail the ragged rocks, 
Which guard the outer shore ; 
Again the pools and tawny weeds, 
As I have done before. 

Once more I see Green Island lift 
Its bosom to the sky : 
Where gray gulls dip their lazy wings, 
And snowy sail go by. 



[42] 



I see the light on Halfway Rock, 
Foam kissed with every tide : 
Long Island lying to the north, 
And Overset this side. 

While just beyond is Inner Green, 
And Jewell lifted high, 
With Cliff outside of Great Chebeague, 
Where Harpswell boats go by. 

Against the Cape, with lights and fort, 
Ram Island lies in spray : 
And over all, White Head looks out 
Majestic down the bay. 

Behind, in pastures green and brown, 
Are spruce and pungent fir, 
With rocks and hillocks piled between, 
And creeping juniper. 

And over all the open sky, 

So deep, so still, so blue! 

Than all the sea and earth more wide, 

Than time-set tides more true. 

Upon my heart the woes of men 
Have fallen deep and sore, 
Until with bands of heaviness 
My own is covered o'er. 

[4*3] 



My tired feet have wandered far, 
And oft where none did smile. 
Oh, rocking sea, bring thou to me 
Thy grateful rest awhile. 

I hear thy voices leagues from land, 
In low and hollow roar, 
By smitten crags, 'mong reaches far, 
In ripples on the shore. 

A thousand voices thou hast got, 
I ask for only one, 
While on this Isle I find a lap 
To rest my head upon. 

Fair Peaks, sail-skirted ev'ry day, 
Close watched by beacon's beam, 
And by the nightly stars which pierce 
The deep with golden gleam; — 

For three and thirty years your arms 
Have opened wide to me, 
With large and fulfilled promises 
Of hospitality. 

The outer shore says "Welcome back, 
The year has been so long; 
On many a day you came this way, 
And sometimes brought a song." 

[44] 



The meadows spread their ample green, 
With blossoms fresh and new; 
The wave-lapped beach looks up with smiles, 
And says, "It is for you." 

"It is for you the Fireweed nods 
From yonder blooming hedge, 
For you green Bayberries turn white, 
Along the sea wall's edge. 

"For you the Raspberries blush ripe, 
Sweet Briers still and steep ; 
The woods reach out their arms to you, 
With shadows long and deep.'* 

Each moss-held fern and blossom fair 
Beside the rock and tree, 
In places where no others come, 
Have grown I think for me. 

I love the path, moss-carpeted, 
Fern-garnished, damp and sweet, 
Which takes me through the spruce and fir 
Whose outstretched fingers meet. 

Until I near the shore, it leads 

Me toward the open sea, 

Then turns to find my best loved seat, 

Beneath an old beech tree. 

[45] 



Among the shadows of this tree 
I've read and slept and dreamed, 
And written many messages, 
Of things that were, or seemed. 

The trunk with dates is written o'er, 
And letters manifold, 
And hearts entwined, which lovers cut 
When love's fond tale was told. 

They've gone their ways, who cut these names, 

Perhaps forgot they're here: 

But may the woodman spare the tree, 

To many hearts so dear. 

'Tis here I fondest welcome find, 
When resting draws me nigh ; 
'Tis here, when parting comes, I say 
My saddest, last good-by. 

Where music and amusements are, 
Upon the southern side, 
The ever restless, surging throng 
Is changing as the tide. 

They love the fun and festival, 
And gala is each day ; 
But give to me the quiet woods, 
The sea not far away. 

[46] 



nature is a tender nurse; 
So quiet, kind and true, 

With no upbraiding for your lacks, 
She gives her best to you. 

She makes no boasts and no complaints: 
She takes you as you are, 
Puts soughing songs, and balmy dreams 
In place of every care. 

And so again I come to thee, 
Fair Island down the bay, 
A friend thou art, to old and new 
In summer-time, alway. 

1 look across the drifting years, 
— The first but yesterday, — 

And seem to see the forms of those 
Who with me came this way, 

Again we dip the shining oar, 
Our line cast in the deep, 
Again we tread the woodland path, 
'Mid woodland shadows sleep. 

Again we watch the beacon's gleam 
Above its ruby path, 
The sea that shimmers silently, 
Or rises in its wrath. 

[47] 



We pile the driftwood, light the fire : 
So close we gather then, 
And let our torpid hearts grow warm, 
To all the world again! 

And many more we met here, whom 
Before we never met, 
To bear away a friendship rare, 
Which lingers with us yet. 

But some are gone; I seem to feel 
Their presence day by day. 
I look to see their faces too, 
But they are far away. 

To some fair island, they have passed 
Where winter never chills ; 
Nor lights go out, nor darkness comes, 
Nor sickness ever kills. 

Sweet hope, which tells us we may meet 
Upon that blissful shore, 
To live in summer's fadeless bloom, 
With them, forevermore. 

And so, O God, we trust in Thee 
For all the days to come, 
Assured that when the shadows fall, 
Thy hand will lead us home. 

[48] 



WHEN COAL IS HIGH 

As a result of the strike in the coal mines in 1892-3, 
coal sold for $24.00 per ton, cash down, in East Bos- 
ton. In Providence a man paid $100.00 for four tons 
of coal to keep his sick wife warm. The Boston pa- 
pers advertised thirty-pound bags of coal for sale at 
75c per bag, a rate of $50.00 per ton. 

To my neighbor, General Ayling, with congratula- 
tions upon his morning's acquisition. 

Without a moment's warning, 

So early in the morning, 

I heard sweet music just across the way; 

I wish it had come nearer, 

But then 'twould have been dearer, — 

'Twas dear enough I know you all will say. 

The ring it had was charming, 

Our greatest fears becalming: 

It seemed like music heard some years ago. 

The house girl stopped to listen, 

And how her eyes did glisten! 

The air was one she very well, did know. 

[49] 



The neighbors staid, and sober,, 

As mountains in October, 

All left their work to find out what it meant. 

My heart was all elation, 

And filled with expectation, 

Alas ! I found for me it was not sent. 

/ 
We send congratulations, 
And keep up expectations, 
When did it bring such music to the soul? 
When was it such a wonder, 
As though an awful blunder, 
A neighbor getting in a load of coal? 



[50] 



ROBIN RED 

I can but love you, Robin Red, 
Because you always sing; 
And when you come to nest with us, 
A homelike song you bring. 

How many, many notes you have! 
How varied are the keys ! 
And every note, in every strain, 
You flute with magic ease. 

You have a song for cloudy days, 
A song for shining sun, 
A tender call, a warning wild, 
Which tell us all that's done. 

Sometimes I hear you fret and scold, 
When things go wrong at home: 
And strains of rippling praises tell, 
When peace again has come. 

I love your friendship, Robin Red, 
You're sociable and free. 
For oft my window pane beside, 
You sit, and glance at me. 
[51] 



And say "Tut, tut, put down your work, 
Just see me take that worm," 
You drop, and peck, and pull, and get, 
In spite of writhe and squirm. 

With tipping head you wink your eye, 
And seem to say to me; 
"Oh, did not I do well to get 
A feast you could not see?" 

"Good-by," you say and fly away 
With breakfast you have slain; 
But well I know it won't be long, 
Before you'll come again. 

I can but love you, Robin Red, 
Because you always sing, 
I love your friendship, Robin Red, 
The social joys you bring. 



[52] 



LOVE LURE 



LOVE AND DUTY 

I give thee what belongs to thee, 

For duty says I must; 
The pay thine own : now we are quits, 

No longer held in trust. 

But this I give to thee for love, 
I would 'twere more, not less ; 

And still I am in debt to thee, 
For love I can't express. 



LOVE AND PLENTY 

Thou dost not need my care or me, 

No good art thou denied; 
With all that makes thee glad and free, 

Thy life is well supplied. 

But oh, I love thee well, my dear ! 

And I would have thee know : 
My heart so longs to tell thee this, 

For love must love bestow. 
[55] 



LOVE AND NEED 

So blessed am I, if need is good, 
And poverty doth bless : 

For oft the morning sun looks in, 
And smiles on emptiness. 

And still I am content, nor ask 
Dear heaven its care to prove ; 

The whiles I have thee near to me, 
And best of all, thy love. 



LOVE AND TEMPTATION 

Temptation's power so strong, both out 

And in the human heart, 
With charms and fashions beautiful, 

Makes manifest its art. 

But night brings homeward undefiled, 
The tempted, pressed with care, 

To tender trusting praying ones : 
For love is waiting there. 
[56] 



LOVE AND REASON 

O love is sure to understand, 
When words cannot explain: 

And love knows well the mysteries, 
Which reason fails to gain. 

And so I love, and ask for love, 

To show my hidden way ; 
The love that lights the darkest night, 

And glorifies the day. 



LOVE AND ABSENCE 

Alone I walk the ways we trod 

Together, days before; 
Well knowing that dear comradeship 

Can come to us no more. 

But love will not be thus denied ; 

And breaking strongest thrall, 
In loneness, looks and sees thee smile, 

'Mid silence, hears thee call. 
[57] 



MADRIGAL 

Before me stands thine image all the day, 

And ever, to the same mark sends its gaze, 

As though intent on something far away ; 

So far ! No consciousness thy face betrays 

Of all I say and think to thee ; 

Of all my wishes link to thee, 

No consciousness thy face betrays. 

Couldst thou but see me look into thine eyes, 
And try to press my face against thine own, 
Thy face ! — to sketch my pencil vainly tries, — 
Couldst feel my clasped hands upon thee 

thrown : 
What would thy wishes link to me? 
What wouldst thou say and think to me, 
My clasped hands upon thee thrown? 

Since to my side thine image thou didst bring — 
Were it not there, 'twould hide within my 

heart, — 
The pain-swept harp of life bids every string 



[58] 



Make love and joy, of every day a part. 
What thou dost say and think to me, 
The wishes thou dost link to me, 
Make love of every day a part. 

The runes within my heart I cannot trace : 
And so again I look into thine eyes, 
Again I press my face against thy face, 
Thy face ! — to sketch my pencil vainly tries, 
The wishes that I link to thee, 
What I would say and think to thee, 
To sketch my pencil vainly tries. 



[59] 



THY SMILE 

When through the dripping clouds breaks the 

red sun, 
Flying the signals that rainfall is done, 
All the world stirs in its glow. 
Bright falls the light on the hillside and sea: 
Sparkles with jewels each rain deluged tree: 
Laughing the laborers go. 

Flowers are swinging again in the breeze ; 
Once more I hear the low hum of the bees, 
Giddy with lush in the lane. 
Birds glance about on the swiftest of wing, 
Singing the merriest songs they can sing, 
Thankful for sun after rain. 

Ships snugly harbored sail out with the tide ; 
Plenty of room on the ocean so wide, 
When the warm sun makes them free, 
Earth springs to life 'neath the light spreading 

o'er; 
Bringing its best to the sickle and store ; 
Such is thy smile, dear, to me. 
[60] 



EGYPTA 

In polished pool the lotus swims, unfolds its 
lips of love, 

And sends rare fragrance to the Khedive's win- 
dow, just above; 

A message dear it holds for those who watch 
with eager eyes 

Behind the harem lattice-work : and then it fades 
and dies. 

While "Allah Akbar, Haya 'ala's-salat" x is the 

cry, 
The high Muezzin sees a stork fly through the 

twilight sky; 
With clapping beak it calls its mate, lost since 

the crimson morn, 
And flies, till 'mid the darkness of the night, 

it too is gone. 

i "God is great, Come to prayer." 



[61] 



Before the sun is high, the caravan is on its 

way, 
A-trail across the tawny sand, with loping 

swinging sway ; 
The shouts of drivers die away, dim all so plain 

before, 
And in the burning sky it disappears, to come 

no more. 

As breath of spring cam'st thou O tender love. 

I felt thy heart 
A-throb. Thy lips pressed mine as though our 

lives could never part; 
But thou art gone. No more thy voice, thy 

form on either hand; 
I only see the red and rainless sky, the tawny 

sand. 



[62] 



WHAT ANSWER 

In the far, far cry of the flying winds, 
Over mountain and tossing sea, 

Do I send my message of love, dear heart ; 
Tell me, what shall the answer be? 



[63] 



SWEET PEAS 

Beautiful forms of fashion fair, 
Delicate tints of colors rare, 
Odor as sweet as attared air: 
But no more than many others. 

Good was the garden where they grew, 
Pure was the falling rain and dew, 
Warm was the wind and sun they knew; 
But no more than many others. 

Many admired as they passed, nigh, 
Offered a price, if they might buy, 
Placing the value very high; 
But no higher than for others. 

Into my fingers, — culled with care, 
Culled for their tints and odors rare, — 
Pressed were the blossoms, sweet and fair 
Just as sweet as many others. 

Dear little flowers, no longer free, 
Token of love that's pledged to me ; 
Bound in sweet bondage, I'm like thee ; 
And you're more than many others. 
[64] 



Fair is the form that o'er thee bent, 
Tender the grace it to thee lent, 
Tender the love which culled and sent; 
It is more than any others. 



[65] 



CITADEL MOSQUE 

In Cairo, Egypt, upon a commanding hill, and within 
the citadel, is the Mosque of Mohammed Ali, founder 
of the present native rulers of Egypt. Here he wor- 
shipped, and here his body was entombed. From the 
front court is obtained a fine view of the city, the Nile 
flowing through fertile fields; the desert and the Pyra- 
mids. 

In the rear court Mohammed Ali feasted the last of 
the Mamelukes and then massacred them; one only es- 
caping; he forced his horse over the wall, onto the 
rocks, far below, and thus escaped. 

Of all the mosques in Cairo which delight the 

eye so well, 
I like the one upon the hill, within the citadel ; 
Mohammed Ali's sacred shrine, where oft his 

prayers he told, 
Where now he lies within the tomb, enwrapped 

with black and gold. 

The mosque, in story out of story growing, rises 

tall, 
Till dome on dome inclines to that most perfect 

one o'er all. 
'Mong domes and semi-domes six little minarets 

stand nigh, 
While two in front, like needles sharp, far 

pierce the crimson sky. 
[67] 



In marble pavement lies the court, girt well with 

vaulted walls, 
And in a central marble basin sparkling water 

falls. 
At this far height, I gaze across the city 

stretching wide, 
From north to south and westward, to the 

flowing Nile's green tide. 

Beyond, the Nile, life laden, harvest laden rich 

and free, 
O'er all the way from the Nyanza to the great 

blue sea. 
Upon her bosom leaning-masted, white-winged 

dhows are set, 
Upon her banks are pillared-palms, with plumes 

that toss and fret. 

I hear the tinkling camel bells along the 

crowded street, 
The drone of donkey-drivers, and the din of 

throngs that meet. 
I see the pacing sentinels behind the ramparts 

green, 
The lifted mounds of battlements, with brazen 

guns between. 



[M] 



Below, the mottled buildings domed and min- 

areted lie; 
Where Nubian black and Arab yellow with each 

other vie; 
Abbaya, clout, and shirwell, all the Anglo-Saxon 

hail : 
Kaffiyeh, fez, and pugree, meet and pass the 

bangled veil. 

Between fields green with millett, mustard 
golden, flax soft blue, 

And pastures which together sheep and goats 
are grazing through, 

The road acacia-shaded, lined with camels tan- 
dem-tied, 

Runs out from Cairo to the gates of Geezeh, 
open wide. 

With wooden plow, the fellaheen upset the fruit- 
ful soil, 

And dine pursuing cranes as those who neither 
spin nor toil. 

A flock of pink and white flamingoes for the 
marshes nigh 

Adrift, is all the cloud I see against the sky. 



[69] 



Like arteries which bear pulsating life the body 

through, 
Deep water-ways convey the river's treasures 

fresh and new 
Across the fields, to lave each pebbly brink the 

road beside, 
Which runs from Cairo to the gates of Geezeh 

open wide. 

The gates of Geezeh open wide upon the sandy 
drift 

Where, — time defying monuments, — the pyra- 
mids now lift 

Their giant forms, just as they did four thou- 
sand years ago, 

Amid the crimson rainless sky, the aeon's ebb 
and flow. 

Oh, royal tombs for royal forms ; within thy 
wide-walled breast, 

They laid their lifeless kings and queens in soli- 
tude to rest, 

Surrounded by this majesty sublime: and may 
it be 

They did it all with some fond thought of im- 
mortality. 



[70] 



In watch and ward, the Sphinx o'erlooks its 

tawny bed of sand, 
Mute lipped and motionless. No sound or form 

on either hand 
Distracts the long expectant gaze, of those 

great stony eyes, 
Or changes from its stately poise that face set 

toward the skies. 

With passing years the light of Egypt waned, 

and in the night 
Went out. There comes no more the victor's 

shout, or flashes bright 
From chariot, and shield and spear; time wraps 

her glories o'er, 
As sands obliterate her cities, great in days of 

yore. 

Amid all this, the rise and fall of nations near 

and far, 
The changing tides of fruit-abiding peace and 

crushing war, 
The Sphinx looks out as seeing what no gods to 

mortals bring, 
Or waiting for the coming of a long expected 

king. 



[71] 



But hark ! the call to prayer is heard from lofty 

minaret 
Where blind muezzins stand, reminding all who 

would forget, 
That great is Allah, and the hour to pray to 

Him has come: 
Whatever duties fill the hand, though near or 

far the home. 

It takes my gaze from Geezeh's pile, Sakara 

and Dashoor, 
From Abooseer, and all the plain which sands 

have drifted o'er: 
From that abyss where horse and rider plunged, 

of Mamelukes, 
The only to escape Mohammed Ali's bloody 

dukes. 

For the malicious pasha made for them a ban- 
quet rare, 

And brought his well selected men to massacre 
them there ; 

Though brave and fighting for their lives the 
fore, were more than they,. 

And only he who leaped the court, survived the 
bloody fray. 



[72] 



I pass within the mosque which stretches far on 
either hand, 

And rises high and higher to the central vault 
so grand: 

Whence every step, and word, and e'en the care- 
less song one sings, 

Come back in music soft and sweet, like gentle 
whir of wings. 

Aslant, the firelit sunbeams strike the alabaster 

walls, 
And smite the crystal chandeliers with varied 

light which falls 
On rugs of oriental looms, that need no added 

grace 
Of rare design, or color, to befit this stately 

place. 

From brazen screen, entwined with green and 
waxen foliage, 

Recedes the pasha's tomb, amid the folds un- 
dimmed by age 

Of gold-embroidered draperies, and tapers ris- 
ing high 

Above the cold sarcophagus, where mortal ruins 
lie. 



[73] 



How small is all the greatness earth can give ! 
How brief its stay ! 

To-day brings health and wealth, to-morrow 
takes them all away. 

To-day brings friends and fame, and praises 
drift upon the air: 

To-morrow, clasped hands, closed eyes, and si- 
lence everywhere. 

I 
How sad the life of him who has the best of 

time and sense, 
But fails to love his fellow men, and Him who 

calls him hence ! 
How glad and rich that life must be, though 

small its earthly store, 
That has much love for all mankind, and Him 

who made it, more ! 

Alas for all the greatness of this shrine ! since 

He who gave 
Himself a sacrifice, condemned and ruined man 

to save, 
The Lord of lords, and King of kings, is never 

welcomed here ; 
Though under heaven, no other name, to God 

can bring us near. 



[74] 



If He be there, the plainest place of worship 

neath the sun 
Becomes a vestibule of heaven to each adoring 

one. 
But though your temple may be architectured 

grand and great, 
If He be gone, your house is left to you, and 

desolate. 



[75] 



MISGUIDED ASPIRATION 

"My life I'd give," — a strong youth said 

To old age sitting nigh, — 
"For gold, and fame, and honors yours, 

Proclaimed by passers by." 

"I'd change them all," the old man said, 
And filled his eyes with tears, — 

"For chance like yours, my sturdy boy, 
The promise of your years." 

But eagerly the youth pushed on, 

A dazzling goal in view ; 
No price too great for him to pay, 

To take his purpose through. 

Just o'er the way, the old man lay 
With dazed and fearful mind ; 

The call had come for him to go, 
And leave his gains behind. 



[76] 



SLEEP, LITTLE BABY 

Soft falls the light of the moon on the moor ; 

Sleep, little baby, sleep. 

Silver the wavelets that break on the shore ; 

Sleep, little baby, sleep. 

Soon will the fisher-boats drift up the sea, 

Papa is coming to baby and me ; 

Sleep, little baby, sleep, little baby, 

Sleep, sleep, sleep. 

Flowers have folded their petals to rest ; 

Sleep, little baby, sleep. 

Birdies are nestled down deep in their nest ; 

Sleep, little baby, sleep. 

Close little eyes that were open all day, 

Fold little hands that are tired with play ; 

Sleep, little baby, sleep, little baby, 

Sleep, sleep, sleep. 

Hie thee to dreamland with nothing to fear ; 
Sleep, little baby, sleep. 
Mamma is by thee, and Jesus is near; 
Sleep, little baby, sleep. 

[77] 



Angels will watch over baby all night, 

Kiss the pink eyelids with morning's first light ; 

Sleep, little baby, sleep, little baby, 

Sleep, sleep, sleep. 

i 

Rest, precious darling, without any care; 

Sleep, little baby, sleep. 

Care will come soon enough bringing its wear; 

Sleep, little baby, sleep. 

When baby's care shall come, God will come 

too, 
Loving and strengthening all the way through ; 
Sleep, little baby, sleep, little baby, 
Sleep, sleep, sleep. 



[78] 



KATALEEN 

Yon rising Moon that looks for us again 
How oft hereafter will she wax and wane: 
How oft hereafter rising look for us 
Through this same garden — and for one in vain! 
Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam. 



KATALEEN 

I 

This is the time and place she dearly loved: 
The autumn of the year, the close of day ; 
A smooth and sandy crescent flung between 
The river's mouth, and sea rocks seamed and 
gray. 

A swale fringed creek behind the duney sands : 
Beyond, a mass of forest stretching far, 
And scarce a hand-breath over this, the thin 
And silver moon rim, and a star. 

Before me rocks and rolls the swinging sea, 
From breaking waves to lines that fret the sky : 
Where dim and dusky grow the passing sail, 
And gleams Boon Islands' red and blinking eye. 

The coming tide breaks on the eastern shore, 
Sleep's challenge. Lights from cottage win- 
dows shine 
On stony, winding path, on rose-bush wild, 
Sweet bayberry, sharp juniper, and vine. 
[81] 



By sail and oar impelled, a smackee warps 
Toward the bilgy fish-wharves of the town ; 
The Port beside the Kennebunk, wide here, — 
Above soon lost in woods and pastures brown. 

I see it all, yet hardly do I see : 

For bygone years come back and flood me 

o'er — 
As tides sweep o'er the rocks and burning 

sands, — 
The years when we together sought this shore. 



II 



O ships far sent across the deep, hast seen 
A face with ruddy cheeks and eyes of rest? 
Hast heard O flying winds a tender voice, 
That stirs the soul to love, and do its best? 

O stars that penetrate the vaults of heaven, 
And search the darkest corners of the sea, 
Hast seen her in thy ceaseless watching, her 
Who stood here in the long ago with me? 

Hast seen her, waters winding through the fen, 
When dropped the frail new moon in yonder 

trees ; 
When fireflies lit their flashing lamps, and in 
The night you hurried to the coming seas? 
[82] 



Or does the morning bring her, when yon rim 
Of this great cup, bright red and gold adorn? — 
The finger marks of Him who makes the day : — 
Comes she upon the sun-rays of the morn ? 



Ill 



A child of nature fair she was, and loved 
The quiet woods, the grandeur of the sea. 
No song of bird which reached her ear was lost, 
No flower which met her eye could wasted be. 

Kind art had taught her fingers how to mark 
And beautify life's path, and e'en the wall 
Which hedged us in ; to soothe the heart in pain, 
As David soothed the frenzied heart of Saul. 

While grace divine had stirred her soul to love 
The world, and answer to its cry of need ; 
O not alone in prayer that God would do, 
But in her own glad smile and gentle deed. 



IV 



Pure soul ! more pure than that white dove 

which poised 
With wings outspread above thee, on the day 
They let me see thee, wrapped in lilies white, 
And roses fair, more fair and white than they. 
[83] 



Thy hands were clasped upon thy breast, the 

eyes 
So wont to answer mine were closed. My cry 
Of pain ne'er woke thee from thy sleep : 
Nor moved thy lips to speak a last good-by. 

didst thou see and know, and long to tell 
Me of the better life which thou hadst found? 
To bid them hide thy form in lilies white, 
And roses fair, 'till God's loud trump should 

sound? 

And dost thou know? — Sometimes I seem to see 
Thy face, with tender look on me intent. 

1 feel thee near, as though still now to me 
Thy pure and holy ministries were lent. 



It seems so long, since I awoke as from 

A dream, — a troubled dream, — and she was 

gone. 
The world has changed, to be the same no more ; 
While heaven comes more near, and dear each 

morn. 



[84] 



This is the time and place she dearly loved, 
When days with us were glad, and hearts were 

light; 
But now — now I come and stand alone, 
And breathe my plaint of sorrows to the 

night. — 

I listen for a voice no longer heard, 
I wait and look for one I do not see, 
And from my heavy heart's deep solitude 
I cry, "When will it be, when will it be ?" 



VI 



Hush, hush ! Be silent, O thou pleading heart ! 
What selfishness is this, which bids thee take 
Away from that fair home by Christ prepared, 
By Christ indwelt, thy loved, for thine own 
sake. 

No longer pain have they, or fear of death ; 
All sorrow's tears and marks are brushed away ; 
Of candle, or the sun, they have no need, 
With unclosed gates, and never ending day. 



[85] 



All life's uncertainties are passed. The griefs 
Which fiercely pressed them here, are left be- 
hind. 
Not now the cold and ruthless hand of time 
Can chill the heart, or vacillate the mind. 

And Him whose love has made it possible 
They see, and love the more, because the more 
They understand the mysteries of life 
Misjudged, misunderstood so oft before. 

In likeness unto Him they have awaked: 

So satisfied with Him and with it all. 

Be still and bide thy time, which soon will 

come, 
And ready be to answer thine own call. 

To thee His keeping care shall come. On thee 
His hand outstretched shall peace and strength 

bestow, 
His presence when all else is stayed shall with 
Thee through the valley of the shadow go. 

With them who wait for thee, thou shalt awake, 
And in their presence evermore abide ; 
Christ will be there, and thou shalt see His face, 
With Him thou too shalt be, and satisfied. 



[86] 



VII 

O fragrant breath of other summer times ! 

sacred memories of other years ! 
That now return, and speak again to me 
Of long forgotten joys, forgotten tears. 

What acts of life can ever be forgot? 
What impress on the mind e'er be effaced? 
The record kept, reveals with turning page, 
The history appointed hands have traced. 

1 climb the rain-washed road across the hill, 
And silently upon the summit wait, 

As waits a long belated traveler 

Home come, yet kept outside the bolted gate. 

No matter for the road that onward sweeps, 
Between broad farms and stately poplar trees 
Toward the lakes, and distant mountain peaks, 
Which ever welcome give to restful arms and 
knees. 

VIII 

Behind, in every sense I gaze behind, 

To look behind is sign of age, they say, 

For hopeful youth looks forward. — Never 

mind, 
The thought and heart keep company alway. 
[87] 



We're looking ever where the thought is turned, 
The thought goes where the heart its love be- 
stows, 
And better anywhere with one who loves, 
Than anywhere with one who no love knows. 

Behind my thought and gaze together go, 
Down o'er the hill, to belfried church and 

school, 
The corner-store, small-grocery, the mail, 
What-not-dispensary, and gossip-pool. 

The crossing roads, to east, to west, to north, 
To south, are lost 'mid distant hills. Above 
The sky-met line of hills to south, there stands 
A bold, and far-seen clump of trees I love. 

Because I see them from this lofty throne 
Of boyhood's most impressive pilgrimage : 
And see them too, far, far the other side, 
Where scenes of home, the boy's keen sight en- 
gage. 



IX 



'Mid neighbors' salutation, clang of bell, 
The school-yard dash and scurry, and the still 
Events of memory, day dies, and drops 
The sun unthought, behind yon rambling hill. 
[88] " 



A wagon rattling o'er the road, bespeaks 
The mail, the things and people, all that come 
To this still spot, out from the busy world. 
— This spot where rest and knowledge build 
their home. — 

From yonder hedge the lonesome whip-poor- 
will 

Is calling; through the night is calling still. 

With but one word it makes me long for home ; 

One only "Whip-poor-will" and "Whip-poor- 
will." 



X 



The moon is full. Why muse I here? A spot 
More dear to me but two good miles away ; 
Not far, nor will it take me long to find 
Where love is waiting with the closing day. 

June pinks are fringing all the graveled walk 
Down which she comes with callas in her hand, 
Sweet breathed as babies arc ; and at her throat 
Some heliotrope, clasped close with golden band. 

Not Juno large and matronly is she, 
But Aphrodite, misty-eyed, as born 
Upspringing from the sea. Adonis I ; 
Together walk we up the road and on. 
[89] 



XI 



Some nights ago the silver hoar-frost fell. 
Last night the silver hoar-frost fell again, 
And brought the time for ripened harvesting, 
The harvesting behind the latter-rain. 

From spreading burs the brown nuts strew 

the ground, 
And seem paternal tokens sent from heaven : 
As when to Israel, 'mid desert wastes, 
Fresh manna from the sky was daily given. 

We take our way across the hills for these ; 
Among the glades, where grapes have purple 

grown, 
And hide, and wait beneath brown foliage, 
In mellowness, and sweetness, for their own. 

Ah, here are food and wine that make us young 
Again. They bid us eat and drink our fill ; 
And holding in the cup fair images, 
Tell us to dream, and hope, and love at will. 

In dream, and hope, and love we onward go, 
The last bright golden rod and asters wild 
To pluck away, and plait with crimson leaves, 
Into a fillet fair, for Anna's child. 



[90] 



XII 

I read the tender message, writ in prayer, 
And sent from miles and miles away to me ; 
Suggesting more than I can see, it speaks 
Of what has been, what is, and is to be. 

Again is read the written word, again 
Is known the mystery of all unsaid; 
Until another life is with my own, 
Its peace and purity about me shed. 

What answer now? It must be fair, and soon, 
And that, too, tell of much no pen can say ; 
What wonder, then, if in a dreamy mood, 
The dreamer, and the dreamed seem far away? 

Nor deem it strange if lovers seem to live 

In other worlds from those which round them 

move. 
Their own unmindfulness, and loss to you, 
But show they still do mind, and truly love. 

'Tis well that messages are safely borne, 
Delivered to our hand from leagues away ; 
And we can know, and they can know full well, 
The tidings that the lips and heart would say, 



[91] 



But God is everywhere, and He can tell 

What human tongue knows not how to express ; 

Though far apart, who dwell in Him are 

brought 
Together close, in triumph or distress. 

So let us speak through Thee, O holy One: 
And let us hear through Thee, Omnipotence ; 
Thou wilt be sure to give the message true, 
Nor wilt Thou fail to keep our confidence. 



XIII 

The silver bells are ringing, wedding-bells ; 
Proclaiming that two lives are joined in one; 
And all who care, are quickly gathered there, 
Where man appears to do what God hath done. 

What joy! What expectation and desire! 
When silver bells announce the wedding day. 
Some hearts are glad, and some can but be sad, 
When love shall give its only child away. 

So empty seems the old familiar nest, 
When they are gone to make one of their own. 
The new is happy , — ever may it be — 
Although the old is songless, lost, and lone. 



[92] 



But ring the silver wedding-bells we must ; 
Throughout the passing years it is to be, 
As generations come, and pause, and go; 
For so our parents did, and so do we. 

Know well how sacred is the hour and deed ; 
Made so because two lives the same have willed ; 
How sorrows blight, with marriage-vows un- 

kept ; 
How blessings fall, on promises fulfilled. 

Give us God-speed, thy blessing give dear 

hearts ; 
Speak not of loss, but rather tell the gain ; 
Think not so much of what has gone, as come, 
There was but one, but now in one are twain. 

The silver bells are ringing, wedding-bells : 
O let them ring, and ring, and ring again ; 
They call our hearts to double ministry, 
Nor let us meet the double task in vain. 



XIV 

The first new home ! how dear it ever is 

To us, and those who with us make it there ; 

A palace or a cottage, all the same 

'Tis home : and love conspires to build it fair. 

[93] 



Another refuge, where the tired ones 
Find rest and quietness to stay the soul ; 
Where little children enter heaven or hell, 
To mar their tender lives, or make them whole. 

Another altar built for heavenly guests ; 
Where faith shall rise and benedictions fall ; 
The hallowed ark, within the temple set, 
To shed its holy influence o'er all. 

Another flaming sword in angel hands, 
To bid defiance to the tempter's power; 
And keep that confidence, which life demands, 
In times of joy complete, and sorrow's hour. 

Such is the house upon a shaven lawn, 
A gabled-house by evergreens half hid, 
The village street beside, in Eden set, 
'Mid fields with fruits abundant, none forbid. 

Broad roads, well filled with rails of steel, pass 

through, 
O'er which the traffic of a world speeds free. 
And waters still, whose barges slow, adrift, 
Float down from inland lakes into the sea. 

Here sturdy men and matrons do their tasks, 
Make cheerful homes, whose hearths ne'er cease 

to glow 
With fires of hospitality, and with 
Us serve our God in unforgotten vow. 

[94] 



Our gateways, arched with climbing roses sweet, 
A hearty welcome give, sincere God-speed, 
To all the same. This is the shepherd's fold, 
The fold of all the flock, in wealth or need. 

Here peace and happiness abide, and here 
The baby comes, to make our love complete ; 
For babies bring a love that never comes 
Till babies do, — for so it seemeth meet. 

The first new home! how dear it ever is 
To us, and those who with us make it there ; 
A palace or a cottage, all the same 
'Tis home ; and love conspires to build it fair. 



XV 



A wider home upon a broader street, 

Within a city broad, with people filled ; 

Where through its broad domain the sounds of 

toil, 
And cries of restless ones, are never stilled. 

Here too are mothers mild, and fathers strong 
To us. To every wayward child, come home, 
A feast is spread, a kindly welcome said, 
And some invited are, who will not come. 



[95] 



What grace ! amid the toilers here to toil, 
To give a hand, to lift a load, to speak 
Again, the words our kindly shepherd spake, 
To those with lives by sin o'erborne, will weak. 

Forgive, O Lord, for seeking souls unsought ; 
For tired ones whose cares we failed to lift, 
For those forgot, and those who ne'er came 

back, 
That in the mighty current went adrift. 

We give our lives to these, and oft forget 
Our own, which too need ministry and care : 
Until no ministry, or care, avails 
For one whose life is filled with service here. 

For here it is the shadows fall on us ; 
They smite the sacred life to us God-given ; 
And while alone the silent form remains, 
The spirit finds its way to its fair heaven. 

Swing wide ye golden gates, and let her in, 
Whose tired spirit takes its flight to thee. 
And wilt thou let some messenger pass out 
To comfort us, if so it is to be? 

Swing wide ye iron gates, and let us in 
And out again, to home, no longer home ; 
The place bereft and desolate, where live 
We must, if live at all, for thus we come. 
[96] 



XVI 

Wilt hold me, Father, in Thine arms? I am 
A little child, with ignorance confessed ; 
Nor dare to ask, lest I should ask amiss : 
So do for me as seemeth to Thee best. 

Forbid that I rebel, or criticise 

The wisdom of unfathomed providence. 

Rebellion fills the heart with bitterness; 

It grieves the Comforter, and drives Him hence. 

Then hold me close, so close ; and care for me, 
Nor take away Thy patient guiding hand ; 
I am so helpless, and I do not know 
The way. Sometime I'll better understand. 



XVII 

O little hands that press against my face ; 
O childish eyes that look into my own ; 
And tender lips, that tremble with the quest, 
The eager quest, "where has my mamma gone ?" 

"And where is heaven?" "If I could only see 
Her for one moment, one." "If God would let 
Me in." "I would come back and live for you, 
And care ; for I will be a woman yet." 

[97] 



The tender heart throbs close against my heart ; 
By little hands my tear-wet face is dry ; 
And on her pillow falls asleep my child, 
With oft a restless toss, and deep drawn sigh. 

Thou dost not know thy loss, canst never know ; 
Though missing what is gone, not knowing 

what. 
For love or care thou shalt not lack, while life 
Endures, and brings to us a common lot. 

For thee I live, and for thy sake I give 
Myself anew, to all the future brings ; 
Together we will meet it all, and strive 
To glorify both sweet and bitter things. 



XVIII 

Such kindly words of sympathy you speak ! 
And tell me what has helped you in your needs ; 
'Tis well, your words seem angel messages, 
And what you do for me seem angel deeds. 

You bring me books which tell of life beyond ; 
And what it means, perchance, to those who 

stand 
Within the gates, with ended pilgrimage ; 
How safe, and happy in the spirit land ! 
[98] 



Who knows? Imagination speaks. What 

then? 
What does it say with certainty, or aught 
To satisfy the soul, which pleads, and must 
Be satisfied with verity, not thought? 

I take the Book of books, and read the words 
The Master spake, — before He went away, — 
To those who would be left alone in tears, 
Who could not see, or know beyond the day. 

"O let your heart be troubled not," He said. 
"In God ye do believe, believe me too, 
My Father's house has many mansions fair, 
Were it not so, I would have told it you." 

"To make a place for you, I go away ; 
And come again, to take you to my own ; 
That where I am, there also ye may be. 
I am the way, I and the Father one." 

He said it all. To them and us declared 
"Were it not true I would have told you so." 
And on His word I rest, in comfort deep, 
Because He said it, and it must be true. 

This is the time and place she dearly loved ; 
And does she love that other place as well? 
And is she still on holy missions bent? 
And does she watch, and wait? Ah, who can 
tell? 

[99] 



XIX 

Who says 'tis strange that those prepared to 
live, 

And bless their fellow-men, are called away ; 

While vicious hearts and helpless hands re- 
main, 

A care, and menace, when and where they may? 

What greater duty can life have than this, 
A preparation for the great beyond? 
The same to stay or go, good stewardship, 
What is and is to be, in one vast bond? 

Give sordid souls another chance. Ah, yes 
'Tis merciful in God to let them be. 
"Perhaps," He says, "with waiting, and with 

care, 
They too will trust thfir selfish selves to me." 

Who says 'tis strange that young and promis- 
ing 
Are plucked away, the old and useless left? 
Some fruit needs mellowing when fully grown, 
And better finds the sun, of leaves bereft. 

Our lives cannot be told by counted years, 
In deeds the story lies. Some tarried long, 
And little wrought of good, while some as birds 
Of passage, benediction left in song. 
[ 100 ] 



That little life with scarcely opened eyes, — 
So soon asleep, — has great commission given ; 
If going hence, it holds the cords of love 
Which draw some broken heart to God, and 
heaven. 

A few brief hours in time, with such a deed, 
Perchance, did more than three score years and 

ten 
Of selfish living could, to prove the right 
To live at all, and then to live again. 

Were it not better far that some had gone, 
E'er stain and blot had marred their record 

bright ? 
Full well they know, and fain would have it so, 
Too late. They live, but walk in starless night. 

Devoted one, sleep well, and take thy rest ; 
Or fledge thy willing soul with broader wings. 
Rest is deserved, and faithfulness hath won 
A place of ministry, in larger things. 

Ah, who can tell what ministries await 
The careful doers of the Master's word? 
Or what it means to enter in, and know, 
The fullness of the joy of Him, our Lord? 



[101] 



XX 

Amid the white spired city of the dead, 
Where oft the long procession waits and weeps, 
Let nature's sweetest flowers bloom, and vines 
Twine lovingly, for there it is she sleeps. 

pines with soughing songs, whose shadow 

falls 
With every westering sun, and slowly creeps 
Among the grassy plots against the hill ; 
Sing low, sing low, for there it is she sleeps. 

Thou too, O deep-toned sea, with far-sent voice 
O'er barren shore, and over craggy steeps, 
Come there with only cadent symphony, 
A lullaby, for there it is she sleeps. 

And thou, winter snow, fall tenderly ; 
Spread smooth and white apart from drifted 

heaps ; 
Leave far behind thy chilly breath, thy cold 
And icy hand, for there it is she sleeps. 

1 too, with gentle step, and quiet voice 
Will come, when even' star its vigil keeps ; 

Or noontide summer-sun sends forth her shafts 
Of golden light, for there it is she sleeps. 



[102 ] 



XXI 

The dearest festival of all the year 
Has come again. The blessed Easter morn, 
Which shows the broken, empty tomb, and how 
From death, the world's immortal hope is born. 

A new and pulsing life is everywhere ; 
And fragrance rare has laded ev'ry breath: 
For lilies white, and roses fair will bloom 
Life's cheer, as well as comfort bring in death. 

Dost dread to leave familiar things behind? 
Dost fear the lone, and darkness of the way? 
Dost wonder if beyond we still live on ? 
Or if life ceases with this little day? 

"I am the Resurrection and the Life, 
Who lives and trusts in me shall never die," 
He said before He went, and came again, 
In proof, to those whose hopes low buried lie. 

O victory ! The sting of death is sin ; 

The strength of sin the law, the law of God ; 

But thanks to Him who giveth victory, 

Full victory, through Jesus Christ our Lord. 

Familiar things shall still familiar be; 
There is no lonely way with Him who comes 
To take us to His own, His Father's house, 
His Father's house of many, many homes. 
[ 103 ] 



O victory by faith ! O'er death, the grave ; 
O'er every doubt concerning life beyond ; 
If over selfishness, and sin to-day, 
We've victory, to which our hopes respond. 



XXII 

How swift the flight of time ! the months, the 

years ; 
Its passing brings new scenes, a knowledge new ; 
While much it carries to the vast beyond, 
Abides alone in mem'ry ever true. 

Out from the flowing flood we're gathering, 
And too, we give of what we have and are, 
Till time and evermore, are not the same 
As though the passed and passing never were. 

I grateful am for all that came to stay, 
For all that waits a little on its way; 
Since both have added to my sense of gain, 
And made a brighter and a better day. 

I fear I have not added much, or helped 
To swell the passing tide of good. God knows, 
And reckons motives, even more than deeds, 
For these do measure what the heart bestows. 



[ 104] 



Could I have known at first as at the last, 
What would I then have done, have dared 

to do? 
'Twere better not to know, but meet each da}', 
And deed, with trust in Him who always knew. 

giver of the good! I thank Thee for 
Thy givings unto me ; for Thou wast good ; 
Thou gavest better than was my desert, 
Far better than I asked or understood. 

And so out from the past, I gather much, 
And hold it closely to my smitten heart. 
'Tis mine, it ever will be ; and when hence 

1 take my silent way, we shall not part. 



XXIII 

Come down this deep ravine with me, and help 
Me clear away this drift of many storms ; 
And push aside the lichens, and the moss, 
That hide both sacred shapes and ugly forms. 

Ah ! there it is, as made so long ago ; 
Writ in the stone, two names, a date between, 
And dearer far than any name inscribed, 
— My own — is one prenomen, "Kataleen." 



[105] 



names in stone will longer live than you 
And I. Will live when those who lived, unseen, 
Forgotten are. Ah, well ! And there remains 
The rudely chiseled name of Kataleen. 

1 muse and wait; but comes the night. Again 
The silver hoar-frost falls, a misty sheen ; 
Heart-chilled I take myself away from rock 
And deep ravine, but not from Kataleen. 

Dear Lord, I thank Thee that Thy manna falls 
Each day for those who need the strength it 

gives ; 
Twas mine to-day, to-morrow 'twill be mine; 
And too for every trusting heart that lives. 



XXIV 

The Christmas bells are calling o'er the snow; 
They say, "Awake, O heart ! 0| world, awake ! 
The holy Saviour of mankind has come, 
A child in Bethlehem, and for thy sake." 

I stir myself to catch the distant chimes ; 
To catch the meaning of a Saviour born, 
I stir myself; and press against my heart, 
The message of the sky unto the lorn. 



[106] 



I hear the children chanting 'neath the wreaths 
Of holly, where the ladened spruce-tree stands. 
They sing the birth of Christ the Lord, God's 

gift 
Of life to every heart, in all the lands. 

Pile high the wood upon the blazing hearth, 
And touch each taper with a brilliant light. 
I wonder why it is so cold and dark, 
And why the house so empty is to-night ! 

The chanting children seem so far away ; 
Their song so faint, — excepting o'er and o'er, 
"And He is thine," they sing, "and He is mine 
Forever more, is mine forever more." 

They reach their little hands to me with gifts ; 
— Dear hands ! — gifts sent by loving hearts. — 

Dear hearts ! 
Why is my own poor heart so dumb and dead, 
That neither song nor gift its rapture starts? 

The bells have ceased to call across the snow, 
The chanting children gone, the festal light; 
Alone with tokens of her love I wait, 
And con them o'er — some worn, some faded 
quite. 



[107] 



God's gift and hers, and she are near me now : 
And through the drowsy silence o'er and o'er, 
Some far off chanting children sing — "Is mine 
Forever more, is mine forever more." 



XXV 

This is the time and place she dearly loved ; 
The autumn of the year, the close of day. 
Ah well ! Ah well ! And does she love them now? 
And is her presence still not far away? 

Between the seamed sea-rocks and river's 

mouth, 
The sandy crescent lies, just as it lay 
Ere she was gone. Behind the duney sands, 
Through which the swale-fringed creek twists 

on its way. 

And still beyond, the forest reaches far, 
With arms outstretched the frail new moon to 

clasp ; 
Which with one shining star, far downward 

slips : 
As though to sleep within its eager grasp. 



[108] 



And still there rocks and rolls the swinging 

sea: 
The tide comes in and breaks upon the shore ; 
The light-house beams, the cottage windows 

shine : 
And misty sail go out to come no more. 

The world ne'er stops to note our cry of pain ; 
Nor changes from its well appointed way ; 
Obedient to law inflexible ; 
The law of yesterday, the law to-day. 

'Tis heaven that stoops to wipe our tears away, 
And solace brings in miracles of grace. 
'Tis God who hears our cry of pain, and cares, 
And shapes our ways, from His eternal place. 

He ne'er mistakes, He ne'er forgets, nor fails 
To give to those who knock, and seek, and ask. 
Our stewardship account is rendered up 
To Him at last, our test and probate task. 

Sincerely should our trust repose in Him, 
When dark and void the way on either hand. 
He rules when we are lost and dumb and blind, 
He leads though we may fail to understand. 



[109] 



And when life's rough and tossing sea is stilled ; 
Its moon and star set in the distance wide ; 
When morn eternal ends the breaking night, 
Our trust will turn to sight ; we shall be satis- 
fied. 



XXVI 

O thou eternal Life ! each vision of 
Our dead, but makes us closer cling to Thee, 
And ask if when the hour-glass is turned 
For us, its sands will run eternally. 

O Thou supremest Life ! supreme to those 
Submitting all. If not, the same supreme. 
What matters it to have our way a while, 
And then to wake, to find it but a dream. 

O Thou divinest Life ! though all the way 

Is blunder marked, and stains have marred the 

whole 
Of that ideal we set ; to be divine, 
Is yet the strongest impulse of the soul. 

O Life with love and pity filled ! forgive 
Our sore complaint, if sorrows deep have lain 
On us, and hid the joys of those most dear, 
To magnify our loss, above their gain. 

[110] 



O loving Son of God ! forgive, if I 

Have erred in loving still the soul in which 

Mine lived: which lived in mine; and passing 

left 
A rent, wide growing as a broken stitch. 

Forgive if I have sinned, not to forget 
Thy gift ; to hold it fast ; pain to have dulled 
With memories, to which I fain would bring 
A simple chaplet, which my heart has culled. 



[Ill] 



PORTLAND HARBOR LIGHTS 

Ho ! the harbor lights that gleam when the 

stars gleam too; 
When the path is clear and plain, where the 

boats go through: 
Pleasure boats with lights and song, merry 

crowd aboard: 
Cockle tugs that pant and puff, on their duties 

bent; 
Ships whose ample holds are filled with a costly 

hoard ; 
Wave-washed, salt-encrusted ships o'er the 

ocean sent. 

Ho ! the harbor lights that gleam through the 

snow and rain ; 
Gleam when blackness settles down on the 

troubled main: 
When the gale in fury blows, dashing spray and 

foam, 



[112] 



And the ships go staggering through the 
murky night, 

Some so near and some so far, far away from 
home, 

What can then more welcome be than the har- 
bor light? 

Ho ! the harbor lights that gleam, near the city 
docks : 

Snug "Breakwater" standing low on the reach- 
ing rocks, 

Gazes with its crimson eye long before it winks : 

Then more briefly looks again, ere it hides its 
glow. 

"Spring Point Ledge" set farther out, where 
the great reef sinks 

Just beneath the water's breast, when the tide 
is low. 

Ho ! the busy "Spring Point Ledge," blink and 

blink and blink ; 
Big, and then a little flash, quick as you can 

think; 
Bound to catch the watching eye through the 

deepest dark, 



[IIS] 



Just between the sunken ledge and the vessel's 

lee, 
Where Fort Preble stretches far, lying low and 

stark, 
Looking down the water-way, leading to the 

sea. 

By the gateway to the sea where the billows 

boom, 
\Steady shining "Portland Head" smites the 

nightly gloom; 
Harbor sentinel, whose horn through the foggy 

drift 
Sends a hoarse and warning blast from its 

brazen lips ; 
Harbor host, whose clear toned bell, over crag 

and rift, 
Welcome hails and farewell gives, to the passing 

ships. 

Ho ! the harbor lights that gleam o'er the 

rocks of death ! 
Out upon the farthest point of "Elizabeth" : 
Out where storms in madness sweep from the 

east and west, 
Covering the ragged jaws of the bar that bites ; 
Beacons to the mariners, seeking way or rest, 
Burn the never failing fires of the bold "Two 

Lights." 

[114] 



Lifted twixt the wave and sky, cairn-flanked and 
alone, 

Hearing only shifting seas, winds that shriek 
and moan, 

Seeing only far off shores, crafts which cannot 
stay, 

Shines the light on "Half-way Rock," turn- 
ing out and in, 

Now in red and then in white, beaming all the 
way 

From the "Nubble" in the south, up to old 
"Sequin." 

Set against the waters wide, tall "Ram Island 
Light" 

Stands where fated ships have struck, in the 
bitter night; 

Where o'er rocks and sand was hurled plunder 
of the sea, 

Where so far from those most loved, who in 
silence wait, 

Men were swept from measured time, to eter- 
nity, 

Leaving hearts so full of pain, homes so deso- 
late. 



[115] 



Ho ! the harbor lights that gleam through the 
black and gray 

Showing where the way is not, pointing out the 
way; 

When the gale in fury blows, dashing spray and 
foam, 

And the ships go staggering through the murky 
night, 

Some so near and some so far, far away from 
home, 

What can then more welcome be, than the har- 
bor light? 



[116] 



CONSECRATION 

Before me stands the altar, claiming me 
And all of mine. 'Twas not that I, myself 

could give, — 
For I belonged to Him who paid the price: — 
But that I recognize His ownership, 
Authority unchallenged, and upon 
The consecrating altar utter it. 
To give up self, and doing as I would, 
How could it be? What would He ask of me 
To be and do, when I was in His hands? 
Alas ! the land of consecration there 
Was giant filled: with mighty walls each town 
Encircled was. But God ! ah, yes, but God ! 
And on the altar low I fell. It was 
Not hard, but soft as couch with roses spread ; 
And though the messenger of sin beset 
Me sore, and told me all my hopes had fled, 
That all my usefulness was thrown away, 
I whispered, ah, but God ! to Him I do 
Belong. Not only will He now exact, 
But also will provide. When testings try 
My soul, my privilege will be to test, 
And know His loving power to hold and keep. 
[117] 



My God shall have His way ; what that may 

be 
Who knows? Nor matters it so long as that 
He has. Upon the altar, God I found, 
And peace, the secrets of His open Book, 
The meaning of the present waiting world, 
The life to come. And there I found, — my 

soul. 



[118] 



DEDICATION OF A CHURCH BELL 

Send forth thy voice, O sweet toned bell, 
And to the listening people tell 
The time to praise, the time to pray, 
And usher in the Lord's own day. 

O may they hear and heed thy call, 
Though sun may shine or rain may fall ; 
And in God's house may they receive, 
The help, which only God can give. 

To burdened souls tell thou of rest; 
With calmness fill the mourner's breast; 
And when the last good-bye is said, 
Speak thou of hope, above the dead. 

Give greetings to the marriage train ; 
Bid worshipers to come again ; 
In summer's heat, and winter's cold, 
Ring out a welcome to the fold. 

Say to the people far and wide, 
For them the Christ of heaven died; 
Tell them to come and seek His face, 
And find His never failing grace. 
[119] 



COME NEAR, LORD, AM) TAKE MY 
HAND 

The why is dark and lone, dear Lord; 
Come near t»> me and bake my hand; 
Oh, lei in* 1 see tin Pace, and hear 
Some message, from the Father-land. 
Thy word, tlu > bempesl stills. 
And bids the storm depart; 
Tliv presence ever fills 
With peace and joy, tlu> heart. 
Come near, Lord, and bake my hand. 

Amen. 



1 8G 



1 BRING 1UY HEART 
CONSECRATION HYMN 
1 being my heart to Thee, dear Lord: 

'Tl8 .'ill I have to bring; 

Thou will in gracious love, I know 
Accept the offering. 

And I lion will cleanse my sin away, 

Till I am wholly clean ; 

And make my life, to Tliee each day, 

As Thine to me has been. 

I come iii faith, to Thee dear Lord: 
Thou hiddesl me believe. 
And if I lake Thee at Thy word, 
I know I shall receive. 

And where the Spirit leadeth me, 

A I home, or o'er I he sea., 

I'll ^o with perfect trust in Thee; 

For there's where I would be. 



I come in love lo Thee, dear Lord 

For ihon hast loved me so, 

I can bill love, and follow on, 

Thy greater love to know. 

1 1»1 1 



'Twas not for self that Thou didst live; 

Thou gavest all for me. 

My all in service I will give, 

For I would be like Thee. 

I bring my heart to Thee, dear Lord : 

'Tis all I have to bring, 

Thou dost in gracious love, I know, 

Accept the offering. 

And when my work on earth is done, 

When Thee I see, my King; 

With those who wait before Thy throne, 

Thine endless praise I'll sing. 



[ 122 ] 



SAVIOUR, DEAR SAVIOUR 

Saviour, dear Saviour, my heart longs for thee; 
Thee whom I love because thou didst love me. 
When shall I stand with thee, gaze on thy face, 
Saved and brought home by thine infinite grace? 

Fast the years fly by, and bear me 

On, in their flight, 
On through days of cloud and sunshine, 

On through the night. 
Daily duty holds me, and binds me; 
Singing I do it, and doing am blessed, 
Yet sometimes the Master finds me 
Longing for home and rest. 

What I do I must do quickly, 

Soon 'twill be late; 
Late for many sad and needy: 

Love does not wait. 
May thy love then fill me, and lead me, 
That as thyself so thy servant may be ; 
Feeding others, thou wilt feed me, 
Freeing, myself shall free. 

[123] 



Saviour, dear Saviour, my heart longs for thee: 
Thee 'whom I love because thou didst love me. 
When shall I stand with thee, gaze on thy face, 
Saved and brought home by thine infinite grace? 



[124] 



HARKEN, LORD 

Harken, Lord, to my petition, 

Let Thy spirit come to me : 

Thou alone know'st my condition, 

Thou from sin my life canst free; 

Take my burden, sin and sorrow, 

Let my heart Thy temple be ; 

Then heaven's rest my earth shall borrow, 

Then heaven's light my soul shall see. 

Amen. 



[125] 



MY HELP 

Thou placest no burden upon me, 
Which Thou dost not help me to bear ; 
No service requirest Thou from me 
Which Thou art not willing to share. 

So then we will keep close together; 
And what is too heavy for me, 
And what I alone could not master, 
For help, I will look unto Thee. 

To look ; that is all that I need do, 

Thou helpest before I can call: 

The soul that will love Thee, and trust Thee, 

Thou never permittest to fall 

Or fail. Oh, how good the assurance ! 
And better the help Thou dost bring: 
And so, in the tempest my hope holds, 
And so, 'mid the darkness I sing. 



[126] 



ALL IN ALL 

Why should I sigh or complain? 

God knows my thrall. 
Why should I struggle for gain? 

God giveth all. 

Why should I fight what man saith? 

God endeth strife. 
Why should I shudder at death? 

God is my life. 



[127] 



IN DAYS LIKE THESE 

Written during the war between the United States 
and Spain. 

O God of hosts, whose mighty hand 

Our fathers led across the seas, 
We took from Thee our goodly land, 

To Thee we look, in days like these. 
'Mid swelling tumult, bitter word, 

'Mid clashing arms and bugles' blare, 

While war-drums fret the fevered air, 
In days like these, be near, O Lord. 

The winds have swept our colors out, 
Our polished guns the sun has kissed ; 

With measured step and loyal shout, 

The men trooped by who now are missed. 

The hilltops signal far away, 

And sea calls sea with beacon lips, 
Where ride our far-flung battleships, 

To strike the foe, at break of day. 

Forgive, O Lord, that we forgot 

To humble self and Thee to please; 

Our vows unkept, sins thought, unthought, 
Forgive, O Lord, in days like these. 
[128] 



Our gift upon the altar lies, 

Accept it ere Thou call us hence, 
Although Thou saidst obedience 

Is better than a sacrifice. 

'Tis not for gain or vengeful spite 

Our treasure and our life are poured : 

But for the wronged who have no might, 
Whose cry has reached the ear of God 

In days like these, our motives take, 

Since whom Thou usest Thou must trust 
And when we smite because we must, 

Help us to heal the wounds we make. 



[129] 



COLUMBIA'S NEW ERA 

No oracle of classic fame, 

Or Troy-like legend tells my birth; 
God wrought the birth-pains when I came 

Last born 'mong nations of the earth, 
From hunger, cold and savage foes, 

Exactions by my mother-land, 
The fabric of a nation rose, 

Beneath His care, and my right hand. 

Content I've dwelt between the seas, 

Apart from nations old and grand; 
With blessings on my industries, 

And store-full harvests of my land, 
My sons have rich and brawny grown, 

Their tents are spread from shore to shore; 
My birth-strife, and the feuds our own, 

Have welded us together more. 

I've loved the hearth-stone of my home, 
My home, wide-flung between the seas ; 

I've lived for mine and those who came, 
None else to fear, none else to please. 

[ISO] 



But now my conquering arms are pressed 
To islands leagues of waters hence, 

With kings and queens I stand abreast, 
Led by unerring Providence. 

Has rosy preparation morn, 

Become the duty-doing day? 
Has time to gird and sandal gone? 

Has come the metal-testing fray? 
Thou sayest it; and thou hast right, 

O Lord, to ask me for the best ; 
For such Thou gave in dark and light ; 

I've tested Thee, 'tis Thine to test. 

I fathom not the wide domain, 

To which my fate-urged feet draw near; 
My heart, fear- fraught, turns back again ; 

And yet with Thee what should I fear, 
If peoples fettered, claim my grants, 

And some my love for their defence, 
If some the blow for arrogance, 

And Thou go with me, lead me hence. 

Why fled the might of Rome away ? 

Why Nineveh forgotten is? 
'Twas pride. Give humble heart I pray 

However great my victories. 



[131] 



And so with trust in Thee alone, 
I step to realms I do not know. 

My censor, Lord, shall be Thy throne, 
While Thy decree doth will it so. 

My navies swinging on the seas, 

My tented armies on the hill, 
My prairie herds and mountain trees 

Await the mandate of Thy will, 
And I await Thy summons, Lord. 

Through bugle blast, or beacon glare, 
Or peace-abiding, love-lit word, 

In world-wide fields, my part to bear. 



[ 132] 



LAUNCHING OF U. S. S. KENTUCKY 

(March 24th, 1898) 

Hail to the strongest, though youngest of 

ships, 
Clasped to the bosom of waters to-day ; 
Hail to the maiden, who over thy lips 
Dashes the spring to the ocean's salt spray. 

Christened with water, and not with cham- 
pagne, 

Kentucky, we hail thee "defender" ; 

Take as thy mission the life to sustain, 

America cannot surrender. 

Eager the sea is to welcome thy keel, 
Armored and bastioned, equipped for the foe ; 
Eager our country thy strong arm to feel, 
Sinewed and trained for the defensive blow, 
Dear is the flag that will fly from thy mast, 
And dear is the land that ye speak for, 
Speak, then, with voice that is true to the 

last, 
As true as the truth which men seek for. 

[133] 



Spared may ye be from the death-dealing fight, 
— Better by being, to put it away ; — 
Yet, fail thou not to defend with thy might, 
Liberty's homeland which hails thee to-day. 

Christened with water and not with cham- 
pagne, 

Kentucky, we hail thee "defender" ; 

Take as thy mission, the life to sustain, 

America cannot surrender. 



[134] 



WAR 

THE CALL 

To arms ! to arms ! 
Our flag has been insulted, strength defied: 
Our nation's claim and pledge have been denied ; 
And now they lift themselves with taunt and 

threat 
To humble us. We never can forget. 
To arms ! to arms ! 

To arms ! to arms ! 
From mart and field — call out the best to 

fight; 
No sacrifice is great: our cause is right. 
Push on artillery and infantry, 
Fling wide the battle line upon the sea. 

To arms ! to arms ! 



[135] 



THE REPLY 

The drum, — drum, — the drum, drum, drum ; 

The drum, — drum, — the drum, drum, drum ; 

The drum, — drum, — the drum, drum, drum ; 

The rumble, rumble, tumble of the drum. 

The streets are full of people, and the air is full 
of cheers : 

The women wave their handkerchiefs, and then 
they dry their tears ; 

For soon their men and lovers will be from them 
far away, 

The boys have joined the army, and are march- 
ing off to-day. 

The drum, — drum, — the drum, drum, drum ; 
The drum, — drum, — the drum, drum, drum ; 
The drum, — drum, — the drum, drum, drum ; 
The rumble, rumble, tumble of the drum. 



[136] 



The bands are playing loudly, and the flags 

are flying thick: 
At shoulder arms the rank and file are coming 

straight and quick ; 
'Tis "good-bye,"— "don't forget,"— "I hope 

you've not got long to stay" : 
The boys have joined the army, and they've 

marched away to-day. 

The drum, — drum, — the drum, drum, drum ; 
The drum, — drum, — the drum, drum, drum ; 
The drum, — drum, — the drum, drum, drum ; 
The rumble, rumble, tumble of the drum. 



[137] 



THE BATTLE 

A puff of fleecy smoke, 

A boom, a scream of shell 
In hurtled fragments, wide awoke 
The morning ; challenge to the hell 

Of battle: answered back 
With boom on boom, and deal of death. 
From mouths of fire, and powder breath, 

They answered back; 
And they were answered back. 

The forming lines appear, 

With flash and glare of arms ; 
The bugle calls, the long roll near 
And nearer sounds, the wild alarms 

Of war are everywhere. 
Our right, our left, our center hard 
They strike, and we strike back, and ward 

Them everywhere ; 
Death meets them everywhere. 



[ 138] 



And now the cavalry ! 

Man eager! horses glad 
From restless, champing bit set free, 
With smell of blood and smoke made mad ! 

The shining saber's slash ! 
Drawn back, but shining never-more, 
Stained deep, and dripping human gore; 

The sabers slash, 
And fend the saber's slash. 

Again the cannon boom, 

And cannon answer back ; 
Our lines advance, for weal or doom ; 
Of nerve and valor without lack. 

Ah, see ! the foe retreats : 
Our infantry and cavalry 
Press on, and with the closing day 

The foe retreats : 
The baffled foe retreats. 

The stars look from the sky 

On plunder of the fight, 
Where man and horse together lie, 
Wrapped in the darkness of the night, 

And pools of blood. 
The wounded moan ; the dead are stark, 
Glare-eyed, white-faced, with many a mark 

Of staining blood: 
And garments rolled in blood. 

[ 139] 



THE RESULTS 

The fight was won ; but who can count the cost? 
If much was gained and kept, much more was 

lost. 
The farms lie still and bare, industries wait, 
And mute lipped sorrow stares at every gate. 

In expectation, lone the orphan stands : 

And wives and lovers wring their empty hands ; 

While some of those who went, came back 

again, 
With maimed and broken lives, to live in pain. 

When to destroy is what we labor for, 
When all our best are sacrificed to war, 
What will the coming generation be? 
What hand shall guide the wheels of industry? 

Oh, cruel cost in money, time and life: 
In life's constructive energies ! when strife 
Devours them all, denudes the best estate, 
And teaches those designed to love, to hate. 



[140] 



A BETTER WAY 

There is a better way, than that of blood and 

hate, 
Of life and treasure wasted, homes made deso- 
late, 

To settle men's disputes ; 
A better way than that of strategy, of best 
Equipment, most of men, and money, for the 
test 

Of ownership and fruits. 

i 
The brute and bully far too long have had their 

way: 
The pride and pomp of victory, shall pass 
away, 

Give place to nobler law ; 
A Fatherhood divine, a common brotherhood, 
Beneath the cross, which challenge every 
boasted good 

Won at the price of war. 

Let weapons fall, and lift up hands ye nations 

great, 
To take the proffered olive-branch ere 'tis too 

late 

[14*1] 



To help to usher in 
The time, foretold and sure to come, when wars 

shall cease, 
&.nd all their brutal schemes, be turned to arts 
of peace, 

Together with their sin. 



[142] 



PASTIME 

Soughing south-winds in the pine trees, 
Branches softly swung; 
Round, red moon, with golden pathway 
O'er the waters flung. 

Rocking row-boats at the inlet, 
Ripples on the shore; 
Far-off tides, that break the stillness 
With a hollow roar. 

Dews distilling all around, and 
To my hammock tree 
Hedge of wild rose sends its odor, 
Afterward the sea. 

Tenderly the scene enfolds me, 
Hours come and go; 
If awake or if I dream, I 
Neither care nor know. 



[143] 



GABRIEL 

"Unbelief is blind." 

Milton — "Comus." 

Read before the Alumni Association of Bates 
College, June 27, 1888. 



GABRIEL 

With step irregular and slow, 
Scarce moving oftentimes, we go, 
Goal-ward. The dream of earth, of heaven- 
Perfected human life — is given 
To slumb'ring youth ; yet hardly more 
Than dream it is, which hastes away 
With Phoebus' steeds, that bring the day, 
The purpose testing. Memory 
Of dreams ! Like evening clouds they lay 
Close knit about life's sunset way, 
The largest meed in all its store. 

Why so? I hear the sound of feet, 
That hurry haste on every street. 
The clarion call to work, the air 
Is filling. Onward, everywhere 
The people surge, their purpose set 
As ocean waves, that smite the crags 
And kiss the stars ; he fails who lags, 
He laughs whose censor shows no debt. 



[147] 



The pages writ with human deeds 
We see; the racer runs and reads. 
Kind hands to noble conquests beck, 
And signals mark the place of wreck. 
What heart can faint? 'Tis seen full well 
No migrant bird, no flowers that blow 
The thorny hedge beside, can know 
As we the Father's love: yet so 
Implicit are their lives, they dwell 
In trust complete, and praises tell. 
But why our purpose falls so low 
Has been revealed by Gabriel. 
Then come, and wait, and listen well, 
To learn a truth from Gabriel. 

The eastern sky, with crimson blush, 
Announced the coming sun. The hush 
Of night was gone. The city dear 
To prophet, priest, and king, and all 
The tribe of Israel, the call 
To prayer had heard; and fall 
Of reeds, storm-pressed on marshy mere, 
Is like the people's kneeling, near 
The place they entered not for fear. 

They knelt in silence, not a word 
They said; but where their wish was heard, 
It cried: "O when from Zion here, 
Shall the redeeming Lord appear? 
Deliver us. Deliver us." 
[ 148 ] 



Within the holy place, close by 

The incense altar, solemnly 

The priest his spices lit with fire ; 

And as the smoke curled high, and higher, 

He raised his face of strong desire, 

And cried: "O when from Zion here, 

Shall the redeeming Lord appear? 

Deliver us. Deliver us." 

His eyelids fell, when lo ! In light 
Divine, an Angel met his sight. 
God's messenger, with radiant face 
Stood there, to speak with tender grace, 
And say : "Thy prayer is heard ; the day 
Is near at hand, in which He whom 
Thy soul is pleading for shall come. 
With joy and gladness, from thy home, 
Shall go the herald of His way." 

And so the prayer was answered ; high 
Might praise ascend, the day-spring nigh; 
But fear and trembling him possessed 
Who by the altar stood. "What guest 
Is this? Who dares this sacred place 
To enter now? Who can this be 
That speaks with such authority? 



[149] 



Thy mission quickly tell to me;" 
Demands the priest. So oft pray we, 
And pray with incredulity ; 
Nor know, nor take our answers free 
By heaven sent, rare gifts of grace. 

This Angel touched his lyre when time 
Was waking. Thoughts of God sublime 
He knew; and oft on salient wing 
Had sped on errands for his King. 
On Ulai's banks long years ago 
The seer's sight he led afar; 
And when this morning set ajar 
Her gates ; to him was said, "His star 
Will soon arise, the doubts that mar 
Men's hopes, no longer need debar 
Their peace. Go thou and tell them so." 

He looked around, 'twas heaven indeed. 
He looked to earth, and there saw need. 
No beauty was so beautiful 
To him, as being dutiful. 
"Bearing some part a race to save, 
Wherever such a work is given, 
Is living still the life of heaven," 
He said: and spread his wings of driven 
Snow, work to do, that all might crave. 



[ 150 ] 



He left star after star behind: 
And worlds, which worlds can never find. 
Companion spirits everywhere, 
At love's behest, moved through the air. 
Their call he answered not ; nor could 
He wait, nor let his pinions rest, 
Until the place his feet had pressed, 
By which the incense altar stood. 

And now was doubted what he spoke. 
'Twas never so before. It woke 
His Godlike fire, and with his hands 
Uplifted, "He I am who stands 
Within the presence of thy God," 
He answered back. Ashamed and meek 
The priest bowed low, essayed to speak 
In vain, and ne'er his voice was heard 
Again, until the Angel's word 
Accomplished was. At length he stirred 
The embers, but the fire was gone, 
And he was standing there, alone. 
Impatiently the people staid; 
And knew, when he, so long delayed, 
Came forth, and uttered not a word, 
That he a token had from God. 



[151] 



We call to-day for noble men, 
And noble women, too, for when, 
Say we, the noble come to rule, 
Compose the law, conduct the school, 
Make homes and all society, 
Our goal-ward move will swifter be. 
You have such here, you have them there: 
They've always been, and everywhere. 
And still what unbelief is rife ! 
What jealousy, and hate, and strife! 
What high pretending chivalry ! 
Perfected life is far away. 

There's waiting for the work and word 
Of him who will believe his God. 
Believe thou God ! Then there will be 
A silenced infidelity. 
Believe thou God ! Not one can see 
A cavil to such ministry. 

You note the noble men I ween, 
And women, who with timid mien, 
The hungry lions stand before, 
In the arena's ruddy gore. 
You hear them, "Now about to die, 
O Caesar, Salutamus," cry. 
But fear possesses them no more. 



[152] 



And who are these by love allied, 
That stand the rugged cross beside: 
And wait there, till the work is done 
With nail and spear, winch love begun? 
Are these sweet spirits sent from heaven, 
To whom no mortal griefs are given? 
Nay, these are only humble men, 
And maids with shy and modest grace, 
With matrons mild; and every face 
Shines like the sun : each dress is white 
With heaven's celestial, sheeny light ; 
For their belief in God has been. 

None but the truest souls may be 
Exemplars for humanity. 
And only forms of men are we 
Who strive not for such mastery. 
Sweet life! 'Tis worth the living well. 
Behind, fond hope its promise brought ; 
Beyond, faith sees its purpose wrought ; 
And o'er to-day, broods love that's fraught 
With power unanswerable, if he 
Who does, believes in Deity: 
As we may learn from Gabriel. 



[153] 



TWILIGHT 

Slow fades the light, soft falls the night 

In dusky shadows down, 
To take away the cares of day, 

And still the busy town. 

Through azure bars, look out the stars 

To guard the city's rest; 
And lamplight gleams, with countless beams, 

From homes by Heaven blest. 

The sounding feet, along the street, 

With children's laughter ring; 
And birds of night, in weary flight, 

Chant songs of love and spring. 

With sweetness rare, upon the air, 

Steal soft and mellow lays, 
From organ's roll, and fill my soul 

With thoughts of other days. 

Oh, days of joy! when I a boy 

Knew only life's sweet part ; 
When crowding cares and wily snares 

Were strangers to my heart. 
[154?] 



How grandly flew, through endless blue, 

The clouds of fleecy white; 
The evening star, seemed not so far 

Away as it seems to-night. 

The laughing rills among the hills, 

The hollow-sounding sea, 
The beating rain upon the pane, 

Had happy songs for me. 

The place I knew where berries grew, 

The sweetest and the best; 
And scarcely stirred the setting bird 

Ere I had found her nest. 

And day by day, to brush away 

The thorns that came at will, 
Two hands by me went constantly, 

Two hands that now are still. 

Oh, come again ! ye golden train 

Of youthful sunny days, 
And bring to me simplicity, 

In faith, in trust, and praise. 

Ah! well I know the constant flow 

Of ever passing years, 
Shall bring those days of trust and praise, 

Or some of brighter spheres. 

[ 155] 



And when from night, I find the light 
Where changeless glories are, 

That place shall be a Heaven to me, 
If those I love are there. 



[156] 



A NIGHT WATCH 

No flashing lances, golden bright, 
No mellow waves of flowing light, 
Where Phoebus reins his steeds of white, 

To course the morning sky ; 
But deep, dun darkness everywhere, 
And chilly frost is on the air: 
As bells proclaim the newborn year, 

While bells and bells reply. 

I reach my palms out anxiously, 
But empty come they back to me; 
Athwart the somber vapid sea 

I cast my eyes in vain. 
The way — what way? I see no way. 
My feet move not, lest they should stray, 
And rest in darkness, e'en when day 

Breaks bright, and clear again. 

I con the morrow's yield; the year 
So young and sweet to-day, — now here 
But soon no more, — the opening year, 
What all its pages reck 

[157] 



I do not know ; if hope shall die, 
If love, and life shall bruised lie, 
If peace, and joy shall wander by, 
And clouds the sky befleck. 

How bright the west on yester-night ! 

The clouds wrapped round the sun how bright ! 

And 'mong the stars in streaming light, 

I watched the afterglow. 
The kind old year, — the dear, dead year — 
Poured out its costly treasures here, 
And blessings answered doubt and fear, 

E'en more than now I know. 

His voice was whispered in the air: 
His hand was gracious everywhere: 
His feet — but hark! His feet all bare 

Are nearing unto me; 
O wicked heart ! O hollow heart ! 
That could from Him one moment part ; 
To wake and look, and looking start 

That He is close to thee. 

When ceased His love to flow for all? 
When did He slight my troubled call? 
When did the timid sparrow fall 
Unnoticed, and alone? 



[158] 



E'en though the way winds darksomely, 
The morrow never counsel me, 
If in His own my hand may be, 
Enough; "Thy will be done." 

Awake, my soul ! my soul, awake ! 
He comes as summer mornings break, 
To scatter shining rays ; to make 

In thee a vestal fire. 
Awake, and breathe across the lyre 
Thy softest breath ! Thy faint desire 
For lofty strains, shall lead thee higher, 

And lofty strains inspire. 

Awake, my heart ! let incense rise ; 
Let paeans meet the melted skies ; 
Let garlands, rich with purple dyes, 

Bestrew the way He goes ; 
Pour forth thy grandest ministry. 
Whatever in the year may be, 
Whichever way He leadeth thee, 

It matters not ; He knows. 



[159] 



WELLS 

IN MEMORY OF H. A. R. 

The waves rolled in and broke 

Upon the shore ; 
The winds came full and fresh 

Across the sea; 
The misty sail went out 

To come no more; 
And left the dying day 

To him, and me. 

We wandered up and down 

The beaten sand, 
And talked of things our hearts 

Alone could know: 
Till long the shadows grew, 

And o'er the land 
Night spread her sable wings, 

And hovered low. 

'Twas long, and long ago, 

Dear boy, dear boy ; 
Yet oft upon that same 

Smooth shore I stray ; 
[160] 



When memories of the past 

Come back with joy ; 
And oft my lonely soul 

Looks up to say: 

"God bless 'the boy,' and bring 

Him back to me." — 
Still roll the waves and break 

Upon the shore ; 
Still sail the ships across 

The misty sea ; 
But we shall meet, for time 

Is evermore. 



[161] 



TO A CHURCH TOWER 

Above the streets and buildings, high, 

I see thy face against the sky, 

To all the town the sentinel. 

And distant hills, and glinting sea, 

Companionship have found in thee: 

As they who long together dwell. 

About thee shine the nightly stars ; 
To kiss thee haste the early bars 
Of light, that pierce the morning sky. 
How shrieks the storm at thy far height ! 
How smite thee, as with fist of spite, 
The hail and lightning, flying by ! 

The winter snow and breath of spring 
Alike receive thy welcoming ; 
And summer's gold and autumn's gray. 
While birds, your casements close beside 
May build and brood, with autumn-tide 
To lead their migrant young away. 



[162] 



To every tardy worshiper 

Thy chimes an invocation bear. 

Thou callest forth the bridal train. 

And when, above the silent dead 

Sweet songs are sung, and prayers are said, 

Thou sendest forth thy deep refrain. 

This sayest thou : "Unchangeable 
In midst of change ; of blessings full." 
And callest out my prayer to God 
That evermore, to mine and me 
Of glory full and changeless, He 
May be, according to His word. 



[168] 



THE DYING YEAR 

How soft and low along the shore, 
A song dies out at eventide, 

How glides along the trembling air, 
As if all songless tones to hide. 

How slow the fading embers turn, 
As lower down the red flames fall, 

And almost grasp the spirit life 
Of shadows, moving on the wall. 

How steals the cold upon the heart, 

— The troubled spirit seeking rest; — 

When close the eyes to worldly sights, 
And fold the hands upon the breast. 

So dies the weary year to-night, 
And hugs its robes of silver-gray, 

To meet the bounds the fates have set, 
And vanish with the coming day. 

How many joys the year has brought, 
How many sorrows full and deep, 

How many thoughts have filled the soul, 
The soul will ever, ever keep. 
[ 164 ] 



While moons have waned and stars have set, 

To alternate the night and day, 
The flowers have bloomed and faded out, 

The birds have come and flown away. 

The merry laugh of summer time 

Has lost its echo in the sky ; 
And shouts from hearts once full of glee 

Live only now in memory. 

The golden fruit of harvest-time 

Has fallen from the ladened bough, 

The withered leaves have rustled down, 
The brooklet's song is dying now. 

So dies the weary year to-night, 
And hugs its robes of silver-gray, 

To meet the bounds the fates have set, 
And vanish with the coming day. 



[165] 



LONGINGS 

I love these deep hills rolling onward and on- 
ward, 
The green at my feet far away turning gray, 
Where the long flying zephyrs their sighings 
turn songward, 
And clouds stoop with kisses the moments 
they stay ; 
The purple and gold bed 
Of shadows, deep folded, 
Rolling and rolling away. 

Full knee-deep the grass stands, and waves in 
the meadow, 
Where daisies are nodding, and nodding hey- 
day, 
As calling the clover to come to the shadow 
From maples, flung over the brown dusty 
way; 
Dun mists of the morning, 
The river banks fawning, 
Rising and rolling away. 



[166] 



A whirring of wings with a rapturous trilling, 
And down drops the lark from his sun-seeking 
flight; 
The usual chatter of robins ; the billing 

Of doves in mid-air, as they wheel to alight ; 
The drowsily dronings 
Of bees ; but these croonings 
Never can make my heart right. 

My soul flies along with the beck, from the hill- 
face, 
That winds like a string through the heather 
away, 
To leap o'er the precipice, dash in the mill-race, 
Impatient with objects its currents allay; 
For a parental face, 
For a long, long embrace, 
Flowing and flowing away. 

I long for a bit of that deep hollow sounding, 
The roll on the beach, then the ebbing; the 
play 
Of emerald waves, which in rolling and bound- 
ing, 
Fling high o'er the rocks and the grasses their 
spray ; 
The deep hollow sounding, 
The bounding and bounding, 
Rolling and rolling away. 

[167] 



I long for the sea vision, far heaven meeting: 
The sand-plover's feast, in the waters delay ; 
The shouts of the fishers, the far away greeting ; 
The wandering gulls in their void pathless 
way; 
The far away glimmer 
Of ships, that grow dimmer, 
Sailing and sailing away. 

Away and away, till the heavens receive them ; 

And still they sail on, though I cannot see, 
And still do the shoals and the waters deceive 
them, 
E'en though the blue heavens conceal them 
from me; 
Oh, will there be shrinking, 
And danger of sinking, 
When heaven shall envelop me? 

I long, — but my soul flies away like the river, 

That's coming and going, and yet at the sea ; 
Nor mountain, nor meadow, nor sunshine can 
ever 
Persuade the bright river contented to be; 
My heart's overflowing, 
Is coming and going, 
Reaching to eternity. 



[168] 



And sometimes, I catch just a bit of the sound- 
ing, 
The hollow retreating, the ripple, and play, 
A glimpse of the billows, that bounding and 
bounding, 
Come up to a shore, with their white foaming 
spray ; 
A far away glimmer 
Of ships, that grow dimmer, 
Sailing and sailing away. 



[ 169 ] 



A SHADOW 

Red burned the sun in a cloudless sky, 
Darting its rays on a blistered land ; 

The morning zephyrs had all gone by, 
And I was faint on the heated sand ; 

Faint for food, and for water dry, 
Weak, with nothing to guide my hand. 

Rough were the hills I had left behind, 

Rude were the rocks that had pressed my 
feet, 

And now 'twas vain that I sought to find 
Protecting shade from the scorching heat ; 

Water cool nor a fresh'ning wind 
Came to quiet my temples' beat. 

Out on the edge of the bounding rim, 
Tree-tops nodded, inviting me there ! 

And rippling waves of a brooklet's hymn, 
Came faintly over the torrid air; 

Deepset hills with their summits dim, 
Promised shade and a rest from care. 



[170] 



Over a billowy amber sheet, 

White wing'd ships met the distant sky ; 
I knew the breeze there was soft and sweet, 

The spray was cool, dashing wild and high ; 
'Twould soothe my burning temples' beat, 

Lend me breath as it bounded by. 

But, as I looked to the glowing west, 
Over the end of the lapsing plain, 

I saw a cloud that was slowly pressed 
By cooling air, and a misty rain, 

Golden volumes were on its crest, 
Crimson beauty filled up its train. 

Far from my feet were the nodding trees, 
Far were the hills, with their cooling shade, 

The sails were dim on the distant seas, 

The song came low from the brooklet's glade. 

I so weak could not go to these, 
So I trusted the cloud for aid. 

Yes, I would wait 'till it came to me, 

Wait 'till it climbed up the vaulted blue, 

And then its shade should my refuge be, 

My lips should drink in its moist'ning dew. 

Oh, the cloud ever light and free 
Would my low drooping life renew. 



[171] 



Brighter and richer its tints appeared, 
Grander and bolder it moved along, 

And wider spread in the sky, and neared 
The sun, and moved like a swaying throng: 

Soft its face was and pearly teared, 
Bearing never a look of wrong. 

Then, there were flashes that lit the air, 
Murmuring sounds echoed far away, 

And yet I thought that the light was fair, 
The life and joy of the cloud at play; 

So the sounds must be music there, — 
Songs, to waken my own that day. 

Wrapped was my soul in a pure delight, 
Blinding my eyes, and I could not see 

The coming gloom, for across my sight 
A pleasure promise there seemed to be ; 

Sudden a flame of blue and white 
Filled the air, and awakened me. 

Heavy and harsh came a thunder crash, 
Then it was dark as a night could be, 

The rain fell down like a tyrant's lash, 
To drench the land, and to beat on me, 

Sweeping winds, with a mighty dash 
Flung me low, 'mid the falling sea. 



[172] 



Wildly I reached out my weary arms, 

Throwing them up through the murky night, 

And cried, "Oh, where are the pleasing charms, 
The songs of love, and the golden light?" 

All was vain, and my blistered palms 

Hugged the earth, as I shrank with fright. 



[173] 



LIFE'S SONG 

Soft and low the song arose, 

With a sweetness half of Heaven ; 
All were silver tones, and those 
By the purest impulse given. 

And yet 'twas deep 
As is the stir of tender leaves, 
When summer's breath its bosom heav 
Or when the tide, at ebb, once more 
Rippling a wave to kiss the shore, 

Awakes from sleep. 

Deeper, fuller, still it grew 

With an alto just as sweet 
As the treble, but the two 

Came with quick, impulsive feet. 
Oh, what a song! 
'Twas full of life, all free from care, 
And, leaving sunshine everywhere, 
It danced and played with childish glee 
Among the hills and by the sea, 
Sweeping along. 



[174] 



When the stars were clear and bright, 

And the air was calm and still, 
Have you ever, in the night, 

Seen the poplar branches thrill? 

Have you seen it? 
How restless and impatient seemed 
The aspen leaves, nor ever dreamed, 
Although the night, with shady crest, 
Had sent the world to peace and rest, 

As it was fit! 

Thus it was the music swelled; 

While a tenor, full and high, 
Joined the glad strain as it welled, 

Filling all the earth and sky 
With rapture full ; 
Impatiently it bounded on, 
When every other sound was gone, 
And sought to catch a higher strain, 
As echoes answered back again 
Its sounding roll. 

Then rolled in the deep-toned bass ;- 
Rolled as rolls across the sky 

Fleecy clouds with brazen face, 
Telling that the storm is nigh. 
And came the storm ; 



[175] 



For burst the song and poured around, 
With harsh and sweet and varied sound, 
At war with each opposing thing, 
It sped with quick and active wing 
In magic form. 

There were cries of joy and love, 

Mixed with vengeance-boding rails ; 
Shrieks of pain rang high above 

Groans and mo°ns and angry wails. 
And there were sighs, 
And sobs, as from a wounded heart 
Which all had left to bear its part 
Alone. And rose and fell upon 
The air, a strain as sings the swan 
Before it dies. 

Rang the mad and maddening tune: 

Bringing to the mind a view 
Of the ocean, rough and soon 

Rougher, thrilled with fury through; 
And there a craft, 
Now tossed upon the swelling flood, 
Then wrapped in black and seething blood ; 
With sails and mast and cordage riven, 
Oft seeing hell and seldom heaven, 
While demons laughed. 



[176] 



Nature sometime must have rest, 

And at length, with fury spent, 
Softer grew the tones, that pressed 
Down the sounds of calm content. 
The waves ran low; 
And far, across a crimson sea 
The ship sailed on, strife-marked but free. 
As purer comes the gold from fire, 
So came the song with chastened ire, 
And measured flow. 

Faster than it lived it died; 

Breathing ever soft and low, 
'Til it seemed naught else beside 
Echo-answered tremolo. 

So lulled the strife; 
And sank the sounds that should be sweet, 
To make a harmony complete; — 
So flew along the sunlit track, 
And through the stillness whispered back, 

"It was a life." 



[177] 



END OF THE COLLEGE COURSE 

Again we've turned to meet the sun, 
And silver cloudlets one by one 

Come up across the sea ; 
Their wings spread fragrance everywhere, 
As sweet as scented blossoms are, 

Upon the tropic lea. 

I hear the pines' low whisperings, 
And tales the Androscoggin brings 

From many a hillset glen. 
While out beyond the dusty town, 
On Nature's lap, I throw me down 

Full prone, to breathe again. 

Oh, welcome June ! Twice welcome June ! 
Thou'rt come again so soon, so soon, 

Thou Parcae, ever near; 
Thou weavest in and out the year, 
The saddest, yet of all most dear, 

To those who meet thee here. 



[178] 



Yes, one year more — ah, four have gone ; — 
But four short years are only one ; 

A watch amid the night; 
A pleasant dream that's come and gone, 
A song so' sweet we would sing on ; 

But for the end we might. 

What shadows these that drift along? 
What spirits join my idyl song? 

Unburied hopes of yore, 
Why come to haunt me at your will? 
Inglorious slain, why wander still 

Upon this beaten shore ? — 

The earth is cold, oh! let me turn 
My face toward the glowing sun 

That warms the winter wind. 
And thou return, O Son, from whom 
We oft have turned when thou hast come 

Our wildered hopes to bind. 

How often thou hast come and gone, 
And come again, and lingered on, 

To make our hearts thine own ; 
While some whose hearts last year beat free, 
Have turned their noiseless steps to thee, 

And left us here alone. 



[179] 



Yet June in fragrant clouds shall come, 
With waving green and nodding bloom, 

When we in silence lie; 
The dewy grass will scent the morn, 
The river still will murmur on, 

The stars will swim the sky. 

The birds will sing the same sweet song, 
Then lead away their migrant young, 

Across the foamy sea. 
But other feet will walk these ways, 
And other lips bespeak the praise, 

Beloved Bates, of thee. 

Ah me! 'twould break the saddened heart 
If this were all: to meet, to part, 

And then to meet no more: 
But far beyond the glowing sun, 
A thousand years are only one, 

And one a thousand o'er. 



[180] 



THE SMALL IS GREAT 

Awake, awake, O ! gentle Muse, 
And fill my soul with songs to-niglit — 
With songs of joy and hopefulness, — 
Like mellow rays of morning light 

That faintly veil the watching stars 
At first, — and then they steal along 
The sky, and brighter grow till all 
The world seems full of light and song. 

I would not sing of chivalry, 
Of glories won in battle's strife, 
Of honors gained for honor's sake, 
Or fame that ends with ending life. 

Oh, let me sing a softer strain, 
Of common chords that come and go 
In every heart, and strike the notes 
That every one can feel and know. 

Ofttimes we think we would be great 
By deeds more great than have been done ; 
We reach far out beyond our reach, 
And then come back with nothing won. 
[ 181 ] 



I've heard of one who, bright and young, 
Set out to do a mighty deed ; 
And even though it took his life, 
Naught else could satisfy his greed. 

He climbed the rugged mountain tops, 
When storms were beating rough and wild ; 
He searched the tangled forest through ; 
And where the heated sands were piled 

Across the plain, he wandered on, 
Beneath the sun's most scorching rays ; 
And often thirst and hunger came 
And went, unsatisfied for days. 

So searched he still, till youth was gone ; 
And, when the brown locks white had 'come, 
And feeble were the aged limbs, 
The old man sought his early home. 

Sought home — and still unsatisfied, 
For what he craved he had not gained. 
His form was bowed with many years ; 
His heart by disappointment pained. 

But, as he neared his native cot, 
He saw a stranger all alone, 
With none to do a kindly act ; 
And life's last spark had almost flown. 

[ 182] 



Then brought he to the dying man 

Cool water from a spring near by, 

To quench his burning thirst; and watched 

The thankful look within the eye 

Of him who dying lay ; and heard 
"God bless you" softly said, as fell 
The feeble head, and sank the soul 
Into the realm where all is well. 

The greatness sought through many years 
Had come in doing this small deed ; 
That happy look — those thankful words — 
Now swept away the earnest greed 

For fame and honor unsurpassed, 
And taught that satisfaction comes 
In doing good where there is need, 
To those who live close by our homes. 

Oh, happy he who has a smile 
For every one, perchance, he meets ; 
Whose heart, for all the struggling world, 
With love and trust and friendship beats. 

Oh, sad the wood, and desolate, 
Which has no vines entangled there, — 
Which has no bird to wake with song 
The drowsy, sleeping morning air. 

[183] 



Oh, sad the grassy, sloping hill, 
Where not a flower would deign to blow ; 
Oh, lone and drear the rifted rock, 
Where neither moss, nor lichens grow. 

'Tis little things that we can do, 
That, when our labor all is done, 
It may be great, and well performed, 
And pleasing to the Mighty One. 



[184] 



LESSONS FROM THE SEA 

Wild, rugged rocks on "Sunlit" isle 
Jut out to meet the restless sea, 
And form a cove, with sandy beach, 
So harbor-like, that one would be 
Contented here when all is calm, 
Or in the dangers of a storm. 

I've stood here when the limpid sea 
In gentle ripples kissed the shore, 
When lazily the ships came in, 
Well freighted with their goodly store 
Of merchandise, and o'er the bar 
The sailors' welcome sounded far. 

When many other ships went out, 
Far out across the boundless main ; 
I saw their shrouds fade in the sky, 
And wondered if they'd come again ; 
Or if the storm and tide and wind 
Would keep some one of them behind. 



[185] 



I've stood here when the shades of night 
Hung heavy o'er the sea and land; 
When wildly beat the surging waves, 
And flung the spray far up the strand, 
And sometimes with it sail and spar 
That took the ship across the bar. 

How like our lives ! We sail far out, 
Out, out into the misty sea ; 
Our boat is firm, the sails are strong, 
The sea is wide, the winds are free; 
Yet many, when the voyage is o'er, 
Are broken wrecks upon the shore. 

Once in a storm a bird flew past ; 
I heard the sea-gull's painful cry, 
As wearily it beat its wings, 
In fright, against the angry sky ; 
I saw it fly against the light, 
Then fall amid the rocks and night. 

My soul was not unlike the bird 

That passed me when the storm was high ; 

And now the time to choose had come, 

Which I would take, which let go by, 

The joy that truly is a joy, 

Or that which comes but to destroy. 



[186] 



Ah! He who gives the lily clothes, 

And notes the trembling sparrow's fall, 

Will never leave His child alone : 

He watches o'er and cares for all ; 

And when the tempter's grasp is strong, 

A kindly hand will shield from wrong. 

Close by my side the ragged moss 
Lay torn, and strewn along the sand; 
And some was driven on the waves, 
And thrown far in upon the land ; 
While some clung firmly to its rock, 
And trembled when the rushing shock 

Was o'er, and swift retreating tides 
Pulled at the sinews of its life. 
Should I be tossed on waves like these 
Against the cliffs, or leave the strife, 
To die upon the barren shore, 
Unknown uncared for evermore? 

Or like the moss upon the rock. — 

Oh, happy thought! That ragged stone, 

In union with the restless sea, 

Gave all the life the moss could own. 

Oh, "Rock of Ages ! cleft for me," 

Now let me "hide myself in thee," 



[187] 



I said, and sought the one true light. 

I pitied then the affrighted bird 

That swept across the midnight sky, 

And cried when none could help who heard: 

And thought the light would guide it home, 

Which shone to say, "you must not come." 

The sun rose clear the morrow morn, 
'Twas clear all day : and when it set, 
The gold and purple on the sea 
And shore, I never shall forget; 
The hills seemed as a purple fold, 
The city spires were threads of gold. 

And when the afterglow reached up 
Toward the soft and mellow dome, 
The gates of heaven seemed ajar, 
To welcome storm-tossed pilgrims home ; 
And there I stood beside the sea 
Which had a lesson taught to me. 

Good-bye, loved shore, I'll come again, 
Perhaps, to tread your yielding breast ; 
If not, you'll teach some other soul 
The way to live when I'm at rest. 
If e'er I come, or come no more, 
Good-bye, good-bye, remembered shore. 



[188] 



THE FIRST SNOW STORM 

PART FIRST 

The searching winds and bitter frost 
Were not sufficient for our host; 
The earth he grasps as though a foe, 
And stamps his seal with driven snow. 

Oh! how it whirls adown the street, 

And eddies round the flying feet 

Which seek some place, that will bestow 

A shelter from the driving snow. 

In and out, like magic woofs, 

Across the many-gabled roofs ; 

Around the belfries, on the bell, 

In gabled nooks, where pigeons dwell ; 

In alleys cramped, on gardens free ; 

In through the wharves, upon the sea — 

Where stiff and cold the sails must be, 

And cold and stiff* humanity, — 

In every place the east winds know, 

Is whirred and whirled the Winter snow. 



[189] 



And yet there sounds the merry chime 
Of bells, and laughter joins the rhyme, 
As forms flit by in wraps and furs, 
Not caring for the whirls and whirs 
Of all the winds, when they can go 
A-riding on the first new snow. 

While up and down the busy streets 

The endless crowd another meets ; 

In it are men with overcoats, 

And caps, and gloves, and walking-boots, 

Which keep their flowing blood so warm 

They hardly mind the blustering storm. 

In it are women, wrapped so free 

Their blushing cheeks you scarce can see ; 

Their jewel-flashes in the light 

Do not exceed the glances bright 

Cast from their eyes; and what care they? 

The fire at home was warm to-day, 

And 'tis to-night. But there are some 

Within that throng who think of home 

In vain ; and in the storm and cold, 

With faces poor and pale and old, 

And garments fringed with rags, they go,- 

Old men and children, — through the snow. 



[190] 



And women, wrinkled up and thin, — 
Whose strength the wind turns out and in, 
Whose shawls and gowns it blows away 
Would cool them on a summer day, — 
Go up and down through all the snows, 
And still live on through all their woes ; 
And how they live, God only knows. 

Where warm the fire burns and bright, 
To drive away the cold to-night, 
The snow makes home a place more dear, 
And draws the scattered circle near. 

But where the cold may come and go, 
And through the walls may sift the snow, 
Whichever way the winds may blow, — 
O Thou who heard the ravens' cry, 
And left them not alone to die; 
Who fed the needy by the sea, 
And healed the sick of leprosy ; 
Who hast through all this mortal strife 
Our thoughts upon the book of life ; 
Who saith to all, "Come unto me," — 
Care Thou for those who needy be ! 
Thy people's hearts fill liberally 
With love, and earnest charity: 
That food and fire may change the plight 
Of those who feel cold fortune's slight, 
And shiver in the streets to-night. 

[191] 



PART SECOND 

Far out beyond the busy town, 
Across the hills and meadows brown, 
Still falls the snow: it covers up 
Green banks where grew the buttercup, 
With clover red, and violets, 
And modest, laughing-eyed bluets. 

Arbutus buds have sought the light; 

But, like some alabaster jar, 

In which perfumes and spices are 

Confined, until a gala day 

Full worthy of such treasures rare, 

Shall break the seal and drug the air, — 

The crystal flakelets here unite, 

To hide the flowers and spice they bring, 

Which burst at length with bursting Spring. 

The crisp, dead leaves blot out my road, 
That wound among the summer wood, — 
Among the wood, where thrushes sung, 
And made their nests and bred their young. 

And now the leaves still whiter grow ; 
The thrush's nest is full of snow; 
And round the branches spreading high, 
So thin and bare, against the sky, 
Like specter fingers, weird and old, 
The snowy mantle spreads its fold. 

[192] 



Sweet summer saw, in happy mood, 

A brook flow by the margin wood ; 

And there, where reeds and rushes drown 

With birds a-balance on their tips, 

Across the hills the herds came down 

To draw from deep-reflected lips. 

And ran the laughing brook its way, 
'Neath alder tassels, soft and gray, — 
Where spider-webs hung all the day, 
And glanced the summer sun away ; — 
O'er pebbles smooth, with merry glees, — 
A moment resting at the pool, 
In forest alcoves green and cool, 
To kiss the bending moneses, 
And lave the roots of thirsting trees : — 
Then out again 'mong hills and leas, 
To find the dim and distant seas ; 

As seeks a soul that path of life, — 

Though winding round through sin and 

strife, — 
Which leads at last to God: and so, 
As mighty barriers block the way, 
Bedim the life, shut out the day, 
The brook has lost its gentle flow, 
And curdles cold beneath the snow. 



[193] 



No longer in the early morn, 

The quail pipes 'mid the stubble corn ; 

No longer rustles shrub or tree, 

Nor waves the flowing meadow sea ; 

And some who laughed and loved in Spring, 

Who saw with us the blossoming 

Of peach, and apple blossoms rare, — 

And sensed their fragrance in the air, 

Who loved these hills, and valleys free, 
The roar and murmur of the sea, 
The flying clouds, as well as we; 
Whose hopes and hearts in ecstasy 
Were strong for life's best ministry; 
Beneath the sods upon the hill, 
Are lying lonely, cold, and still. 

Oh, lone and still upon the hill ! 

And round the mound of lifted ground, 

A silvery shroud of snow is wound. 

Though while I gaze into the night, 
A mist bedims my shortened sight: 
The light is bright and clear, I know, 
Above the whirling, drifting snow; 
Far, far beyond the driving clouds, 
Are whiter robes than snowy shrouds. 



[194] 



INVOCATION TO SPRING 

O hasten ye zephyrs, come up from the south- 
land, 
All fragrant with flowers and grass of the 
lea; 
Stay not on thy journey to rest thy light 
pinions, 
Or toy with the waves of the loud-sounding 
sea. 

Come bear us the swallow, whose murmuring 
twitter 
Begins with the morning and lasts with the 
day. 
O bring back the songbirds which made us our 
summer ; 
And all the fair birdlings you carried away. 

Burst forth, laughing waters, so still on the 
mountain, 

O make the hills echo with music and glee, 
We list for the rush of thine arrowy torrent, 

Impatiently waiting for thee to be free. 

[195] 



You whisper of chasms and of sweet-scented 
bowers, 
Of vine-covered alders, of rocks old and gray ; 
And seem like the moments with sorrow or 
gladness, 
Forever approaching, forever away. 

Awake, tender blossoms, awake from thy sleep- 
ing, 
The sun's rays are warm through the brown 
rustling leaves : 
And gray tasseled catkins are bending above 
you, 
Where hangs the thin web, which the field 
spider weaves. 

Come open your eyes to the mellowing sun- 
light, 
And breathe out your breath on the fluttering 
air, 
Your beauty enchants us, your perfume incites 
us, 
For no Eastern incense was ever so rare. 



[196] 



Now gird on your verdure, nude arms of the 
forest, 
Too long have your weird hands been point- 
ing on high : 
Too long have the cold winds caressed your 
bare fingers, 
We wait for the rustle of leaves in the sky. 

Come back, happy days, when the slow fading 
sunset 
Illumines the mountains, the vales and the 
sea ! 
When angels push open the gold bars of 
heaven, 
And show us the light that for us is to be. 

The winter was chilly, and gathered a harvest 
Of all that the spring and the summer ca- 
ressed ; 
The birds and the blossoms, the songs of the 
rivers, 
The verdure in which all the mountains were 
dressed. 



[197] 



And hearts that were happy with us in the 
spring-time 
Were chilled by the coldness, and withered 
away: 
And ties that were tender are hardened or 
broken, 
And loves have grown cold with the wintery 
sway. 

Then hasten, ye zephyrs, come up from the 
southland 
All fragrant with flowers and grass of the 
lea; 
Stay not on thy journey to rest thy light 
pinions, 
Or toy with the waves of the loud-sounding 
sea. 



[198] 



WHITE MOUNTAINS 

Abode of winds forever cool and sweet ; 

So early thou dost find the fleecy snow! 

So late thine arms unclasp to let it go ! 

And source thou art of limpid streams, which 

meet 
In river floods, yon whirling wheels to greet. 
From shoulder tips to sunken gorge below 
Is forest wilderness, where gardens grow 
In wanton thrift, unknown to human feet. 

Thy pillars vast from temple aisles arise, 
To stay the canopy of drifting clouds, 
Whose shadows fleck thy verdant sides. The 

skies 
Whose morning wraps thee round, with misty 

shrouds, 
Bend low at night, with lamps for paths un- 

trod ; 
And silence unto silence tells of God. 



[199] 



LAKE AUBURN 

I love thee best in June, when ends the filled 
Full day ; and toward the burning clouds that 

meet 
The gate through which the sun has passed, 

my feet 
Are turned, beneath the evening star. Dew- 
stilled 
The blooms of wild grape drowse the air, 

dream willed 
With odors delicate, and sweet as sweet. 
Like silvery vesper chimes wood thrushes greet 
And call, till richest songs of earth have 

thrilled 
The leafy trees, through which the road-ways 

wind. 
In margins of the lake rough boulders sink ; 
There wood and tangled copse reflection find, 
There hills slip down across the limpid brink, 
And cut the polished shield with points tree 

lined ; 
Where stars are mirrored deep, which hang and 

blink. 



[200] 



STONE FACE OF THE ANDROSCOGGIN 

The Androscoggin river flows between the cities of 
Lewiston and Auburn, Maine. From the Auburn side 
may be distinctly seen the profile of a human face, 
formed by the rock projecting from the river's bed. 

Where waters of the Androscoggin flow, 
Thou risest from their rocky midst, a crest, 
O face of stone; and true to some behest, 
Defiance to the storms that come and go, 
Thou bidd'st. Against thee press the ice and 

snow, 
The river drivers drift. And thou art dressed 
In silver sheen, which floods across thy breast, 
When come the torrents of the springtime floe, 

Did some wild deluge carve thy face man's 

own, 
And leave thee there? Did madness fling 

thee to 
That pile, and petrify thee into stone? 
What thou hast heard, what scenes have met 

thy view, 
If thou wast here ere man these ways had 

known, 
Thou tellest not. To secrets thou art true. 
[201] 



THE RIVER ROAD AT TWILIGHT 

Toward the South, where ends the city street, 
Begins the "River Road" of ashen gray ; 
And winds the road a dozen miles away, 
As winds the river with its tasks replete. 
Not much between them lies, save where you 

meet 
An elbow, copsed, or flush with growing hay, 
Or golden-rod, and asters wild, that fray 
'Neath climbing clematis and cleavers sweet. 

The current meets the ripraps, rushed and 

whirled 
Tumultuous, then laves the shores to sleep ; 
While sunlight fades upon the tired world, 
And 'mong the skirting trees the shadows creep. 
The curtains which concealed the stars are 

furled, 
And falling dews the ripe, lush clover steep. 



[202] 



AGAMENTICUS 

Mount Agamenticus is situated in the southern part 
of York County, Maine. 

To all the country round a sentinel, 

'Mid rocks and fields of York, set firm and true ; 

And to the ships, that search the gray mists 

through, 
Thou art the first of nearing land to tell. 
Where flows Piscataqua, through wood and fell, 
And nears the city by the sea, I view 
Thee rising like a mound of sapphire blue. 
From Kennebunk, twin mountains mark the well 
Above the trees, two dozen miles from us ; 
While from the Beach, beyond the curving 

shore 
Of Wells 'tis Naples and Vesuvius, 
The mountain to the left. But thou wert more 
My childhood friend, O Agamenticus, 
From Berwick glades, and from my old home 

door. 



[ 203 ] 



THE CRICKET 

"By one great Heart, the Universe is stirred: 
By Its strong pulse, stars climb the darkening 

blue; 
It throbs\ in each fresh sunset's changing hue, 
And thrills through low sweet song of every bird." 
— "Life" — Margaret Deland. 



THE CRICKET 

I listened for the blue-bird, and the robin in 

the spring: 
And when they came, my heart went out, with 

such a welcoming ; 
For with their notes, from morn till eve the 

apple orchard rang, 
And "summer's coming," "summer's coming," 

was the song they sang. 

Some days when wind and snow were cold, and 
hedges were a boon, 

The robins huddled there, and wondered if 
they'd come too soon; 

But with the sun, came every one ; again the or- 
chard rang, 

And "summer's coming," "summer's coming," 
was the song they sang. 



[207] 



Then came the swallows, one and two, increas- 
ing flocks in train ; 

And then we knew the summer true, had come 
to us again. 

O swallow with your purple wing, and breast of 
ruddy cream, 

You take my ways to other days, across the 
years of dream. 

Again I see the naked farmhouse, blistering in 

the sun ; 
Again the doors of ample barns, flung open 

every one; 
While down the road the wagon sways, piled 

high with scented hay, 
And bears us to the lofty mows, to stow the 

hay away. 

Against the beams and rafters, thick with 

silken cob-webs hung, 
The swallows glue their muddy nests, and 

hatch their hungry young: 
They glance about, go in and out, and circle 

through the air; 
'Mong gnat and fly, their constant cry is, 

"catch it," everywhere, 



[208] 



With tired wing, on beam or fence they settle 

in a row, 
And sing a queer uncanny songlet: just to let 

you know 
That they can bring an offering of praise, 

when it is meet, 
For guidance through the pathless sky, for 

home and friendships sweet. 

Spring brought a nightly orchestra for ev'ry 

pool and fen, 
And none were left to loneliness, for there was 

music then ; 
The hylas of the pipe and reed, and it was theirs 

to own 
And play all kinds of instruments, from flute 

to deep trombone. 

A-balance on the tossing spray, adrift in lap- 
wing flight, 

The bobolink with laughing song, made even 
gray days bright. 

The brown was made to nest and brood, the 
black and gold to sing; 

O, bobolink ! I oft bethink the happy songs you 
bring. 



[209] 



The meadow lark! again I hark to catch its 

notes of praise, 
Again I gaze, through morning haze of longest 

summer days, 
To see it poise itself midair, and end its song, 

— .alas 
It never wants to end, — and drop into the 

meadow grass. 

The meadow grass ! breast high herds grass, 

with clover in between ; 
While under all are strawberries, ripe red, and 

white, and green. 
The hanging bells of yellow lilies, cups of 

freckled reds : 
And oxeyed daisies, here and there push up 

their sunkissed heads. 

Of all the summer strains with which the hedge 
and forest rang, 

The sweetest was the vesper song, the hermit 
thrushes sang; 

Amid the shadows of the trees, the rosy twi- 
light sky, 

The lighting of the evening star, the choirs of 
heaven seemed nigh. 



[210] 



O summer had its minstrels, from the cold to 
cold again: 

Though many when their nests were full, for- 
got their glad refrain; 

But field and wood are empty now, and empty 
is the air ; 

The song of bird is never heard, they've found 
a home elsewhere. 

Their flight the meadow tribes began, soon as 

their young were grown : 
While week to week revealed to us that other 

tribes had flown ; 
So late the robins stayed, and seemed to linger 

round, as though 
It did not matter over much, they had not far 

to go. 

But who'd have thought the swallows would 

have left us in the night, 
And never said a last good-bye to make our 

hearts feel right? 
Yet so they did, the swallows that awoke us 

every morn, 
Were with us in the evening, in the morning 

they were gone. 



[211] 



Beneath the round moon, spreading soft white 
light on sea and land : 

'Mong withered leaves and sprays besprent with 
autumn frost, I stand 

And listen to musicians fair, — of all that come 
and pass, 

None bring more cheerful melody, — the crick- 
ets in the grass. 

When cold winds sweep the meadows o'er, when 
singing birds are gone: 

These music loving minstrels play, from even- 
ing until morn ; 

With love alike for shaven lawn, for wood and 
pasture still, 

The cottage in the alley, and the mansion on 
the hill. 

They always seem like friends from home, 

wherever they may be. 
Once weakened by malaria, I crossed the China 

sea, 
Reshipped at Singapore to reach Calcutta up 

the Bay, 
Not altogether happy, with my home so far 

away. 



[212] 



Singapore with fragrant breath of flowers 

and fruits that grow ! 
— How green the leaves of plumy palms ! How 
green the waves that flow ! — 

1 see your fair thunbergia across the hedges 

creep, 
Lantana, and pale orchids, in whose cups the 
night rains steep. 

Again I see your tangled jungles, where the 

pithons swing: 
Where crouching tigers watch the deer, and 

birds primeval sing; 
Again the straw thatched bungalow, with 

jungle torn away; 
The streets where all the world has come, to 

live as for a day. 

You gave to us a pleasant ship ; the captain 

and the crew, 
— Whatever came across our way, — were bound 

to take us through. 
You gave congenial passengers, made happy 

night and day, 
By rest and song and story, and the scenes of 

Bengal Bay. 



[213] 



You gave the luscious mangosteen, the liehi 
sweet and soft; 

The pomelo, pineapple which refreshed us very 
oft; 

But best of all, you sent a cricket to my state- 
room door, 

To cheer me to Calcutta, all the way from 
Singapore. 

When night came on, and darkness settled down 

upon the sea, 
When sailors' song and merry banjo had no 

charm for me, 
The music making cricket, all the way from 

Singapore, 
To me brought home and friends, and places I 

had known before. 

Penang was weird in streets and people, 

gharry and sedan ; 
The filth and squalor at the shore were never 

made for man. 
But far away, fresh waters play adown the 

mountain side, 
And groves of palms lift tossing arms, beyond 

the harbor tide. 



[214] 



Penang gave passengers and cargo, fruit when 
ours was gone; 

And venders came with rubies, pearls, and sap- 
phires, from Ceylon. 

But when the work was done, one sunny day 
we sailed away 

To find the city of fair places, far up the Bay. 

Of all the new and varied scenes we saw, what 

shall I say? 
The full-rigged ship against the sky, the flying 

fish at play : 
The cloud of gulls pursuing in a never ending 

flight, 
The hot and lurid sky by day, the Southern 

Cross by night. 

The light on Coco Island, Big and Little An- 
daman, 

The sandy Gunga Saugor, where the river trip 
began ; 

The river trip most sinuous, 'mid shifting India 
sand, 

Both in and out a-twisting, to Calcutta where 
we land. 



[215] 



Those days of rest and happiness I never shall 
forget ; 

And many things which met me there, I see 
and love them yet, 

But best of all the cricket, trysting at my state- 
room door, 

To cheer me to Calcutta, all the way from 
Singapore. 

I listened for the blue-bird and the robin in the 

spring : 
And when they came, my heart went out with 

such a welcoming, 
I listen for the cricket when the summer birds 

have fled: 
When stars are old, when nights are cold, and 

all the flowers are dead. 

And when I thank my Father for the songs 

that come and pass, 
I don't forget the cricket, in the cold and 

frosty grass ; 
The shy and hiding cricket, seeming glad to 

shun the light, 
But sure to make its music in the darkness of 

the night. 



[ 216 ] 



Too apt are we to value day when farthest 

from the dawn, 
And learn the worth of little things, when 

greater ones are gone. 
But this I know God's works are good, with 

profit filled and gain ; 
And nothing He has given life, was ever made 

in vain. 



[217] 



JUN 6 1912 



